Legacy
by spirit-energy
Summary: We are manipulative, deceptive, selfish. These are traits we all share. Shinra. SOLDIER. Definitely the Turks. Even those we love the most. The dark circle of blame and untruths may never be broken, but there is light to be shed and it is uncovered in the depths of war. But how many times must a pawn be played before the pawn starts playing the game?
1. Buried in the Snow

**A/N: Hey! Welcome to Legacy! I'm am so nervous and excited to post this very first chapter. Legacy is a fic I've been working on for a ****_long_**** time. The story came to me almost in full years ago, and I tried to write it back then and eventually stopped posting. This time I mean business. I've already, as of this very moment of writing, written the first twenty-three chapters. I'm serious. But I'm going to aim to update ****every Wednesday**** so that a few scheduled breaks I have in the coming months won't affect upload speed.**

**I wanted to establish off the bat that this fic does not work with canon. It is an entirely alternative story, with completely different character arcs and overall story in general. The timeline is warped and people are alive who shouldn't be. There is a barrage of non-canon characters in the earliest chapters, but the main focus of the story does surround the canon characters, as well as a few of my own. But hopefully, if you admire the world of Final Fantasy VII as much as I do it won't matter :)**

**Finally, I really, really, really hope to hear from some of you guys in reviews and messages and stuff. I hope you enjoy reading this story as much as I've enjoyed writing it! — spirit-energy xx**

27th Feb '19 (This is for my own personal reference, but it might be interesting to you guys, too!)

**Summary: **We are manipulative, deceptive, selfish. These are traits we all share. Shinra. SOLDIER. Definitely the Turks. Even those we love the most. But how many times must a pawn be played before the pawn starts playing the game? The dark circle of blame and untruths may never be broken, but there is light to be shed. And it is uncovered in the depths of war.

Rated** T** for violence and bad language.

**Disclaimer: **Final Fantasy VII and all affiliated instalments belong to Square Enix. The only things I own are my original characters and ideas.

* * *

**Chapter 1: Buried in the Snow**

Flatline.

In a white room, a body lay beneath a thin sheet. It was skeletal. Worn away.

A barrelled man stood at the head of the hospital bed, clad in a green suit with military decorations upon his breast. He swung his fist into the wall above the deceased patient's head. The voice from his throat but a growl.

"That makes three."

"We must take a different approach," said a man with an angular face and a ponytail that tightened his skin. "If I may, sir, I will train the next vassal personally."

He was met with a stony glare. A warning. "_Tseng_."

"I already have my eye on her."

"As do we all—"

"—And I closer than most."

"Can't we just go in ourselves?" said a third, much more relaxed voice, throwing his hands behind his flaming red hair.

"And risk losing the entire Turks force? Absolutely not. We must hire specifically for this task…outsourcing, if you will. Someone expendable. Gya haa haa."

"We could send in SOLDIER, yo."

"_Think_ about that suggestion for a moment, Reno, if it won't hurt your goddamn brain too much."

The red-head narrowed his eyes before coming to a silent conclusion and sealed his lips.

"If you are sure?" said the man in green, glaring deep into the face of his colleague.

Tseng nodded curtly.

"Then collect her today."

* * *

**February 15th**

Five confirmed deaths. Two missing persons.

Shinra had the place nigh on lockdown, now. There was nowhere in Icicle Inn you could go and not be seen. The horse had already bolted, but whatever.

The slopes and snowy ravines behind the town once popular with snowboarders, hikers, and mountain climbers were now strictly off-limits. Industry fell into a slumber as a result, and the terrain was no longer safe due to a lack of ploughing. But the people of the Knowlespole are resilient. Small threats won't keep them from living their lives. It would take one hell of a bang to disturb Icicle Inn from its sleep beneath its cotton blanket of snow.

No one seemed too concerned under the given protection of Shinra's infantry. Although the winters were harsh children still played outside, wrapped up in almost so many layers that they couldn't move their limbs and looking almost as round as the snowmen they built. People went about their daily life, swaddled in wool and fur sourced from local vermin. Monsters.

A girl in her late teens skimmed over an ice rink in well-worn, white skates and silver blades, her feet crossing over one another with a mastery that spoke of many hours of training. Fine etches and flakes of snow followed her skates on an otherwise unblemished plane, nestled amongst trees in a deliberate clearing just outside the town centre.

"Sis!"

The skater slowed and sought the voice of a youth of smaller stature, with short brown hair and a shorter frame. She was visibly young, with shining grey eyes against a pale face. Her blades moved with much less precision than her older sister, yet it was still apparent that travel on ice was second nature to her.

The older girl smiled and brought her glide to a harsh t-stop, dragging up snow with her blade. "What?"

Her words snowballed into one another. "Danny can't board, right? 'Cause they cut off public access, so I got him on _skates_!" She smacked herself in the forehead. "He looks like, like—"

"A deer on ice?" The older girl's lips quirked, eyes scanning the rink.

"Yeah, you _gotta_ come see him!"

Her last breaths were cut short by a thunderous boom, an unmistakable screech of scraping steel on rock and tumbling snow. The dull crack of skulls and backsides colliding with the ice filled the air as the rumbling ground threw skaters off their feet. The wind was snatched from the younger girl's lungs as her back struck the ice.

By some stroke of luck or skill, the older sister maintained her balance. She grabbed the shoulders of her coughing and spluttering sibling, who gasped for breath in an airless space. "_Holy_—are you alright?"

She was interrupted by ear-splintering shrieks beyond the trees. Towards the village.

"Aster!"

One of her blonde braids whipped her cheek as the girl, still cradling her younger sister, swung her head to meet the gaze of a rugged man of shadow and grey outside the rink some fifty feet over yonder. Yonder being towards the screaming.

He swept his arm in a commanding gesture and she knew to stand to attention.

She nodded, more to herself than the man of the shadows, and guided her sister towards the scattering crowd of the ice rink. Thirty people at an exit for only two. A jam of people. Easy targets. "Find Danny—get out of here. Get home."

A woman, maybe thirty, ran into the rink guard from the tree-line screaming. The fence bit her gut like she hadn't seen it in the way, blind with fear, face contorted. A wolf-like creature but twice the size—a Bandersnatch—launched for her, teeth and claws sinking into the flesh of her neck. Her scream met a wet, glottal stop, and her blood spilt over her long fur coat, down the fencing, and over the ice.

The grey man stabbed a short blade into the wolf's shoulder, limp in the instant of a whimper, and threw the beast aside like sliding it from a skewer. Too late for the woman, who hung over the railing by her armpits, long blonde hair falling toward as her head hung. He went to her aid regardless.

Aster pulled her sister into her chest to cover her face, but couldn't provide shelter from what she'd already seen. She skated her further away from the man and the wolf and closer to the exit, giving her a final push into the dispersing crowd. The sound of gunfire someplace not distant gave a popping sound vaguely like relief, and vaguely like fear. There were soldiers here. The infantry was here. Relief, it was, after all.

"There, look," Aster said, pointing towards a familiar shock of brown hair none too far from a group of infantrymen. "There's Danny. Go."

"Sis…!"

"Stay with Shinra!"

She spun on her skates and darted across the ice towards the trees, and towards the guarded back slopes of the Icicle Inn.

"What's going on?" she said, knees and skates thudding into the fencing while keeping her eyes firmly away from the growing pool of blood surrounding the woman in perfect snow.

"We don't know yet," said the rugged man as he reached and hauled Aster clean off the rink and over the barrier, earning a short gasp. He strode through the trees to a mustard yellow snow truck beyond. He hurled her inside and she crashed into another comrade, a boy. Young. "But we're gonna find out."

He slammed the door on her and got in shotgun, and the driver, Melanie, a woman of warm skin and a warmer smile, hardly gave him a chance before kicking into drive and ploughing through the snow.

"Second time this week. How many this month?" she said, eyes fixed forward, knuckles pale against the steering wheel. If she was unable to see a path down the treacherous ravines, she was doing a good job of faking it. The truck weaved through trees and between heightening peaks. "Ain't no way this's some run o' the mill monster infestation."

The weather-beaten man in front of Aster pruned and primed a narrow, saw-toothed blade. His face was deep set and hard lined, harrowed and tormented by past monsters and, potentially, humans. No one knew for sure. Some knew no more than his name: Bryan. But time had not been kind, and despite probably only eclipsing forty, or maybe forty-five, his face had aged far beyond that of his years.

He made a gruff sound of dissent. "It's a bigger problem than that."

Aster looked at the kid beside her as she yanked off her skates. Similar age, similar size, although he seemed a little more green in a wet-behind-the-ears kind of way. Snotty air of arrogance. He didn't honour her by meeting her eyes.

Resisting the urge to roll her own, she tugged at the laces to a pair of brown boots that had been waiting for her. Expecting her. "Won't Shinra handle it? The infantry is in town. Might as well make 'em work for their pay."

"We don't need 'em in our town, kid," Melanie said, slamming the steering wheel with a fist. Warning flags streaked past the windows like flares. They were heading on a direct line to peril, teeth bared. "Gotta show the villagers who the real heroes are. This is _my_ town and I'm sure as hell gonna defend it."

"Then where the heck are we going?" Aster stomped her foot, leaning between the two front seats, and jabbed her thumb over her shoulder. "The party is that way!"

"Some of the monsters appearing in town are not native to this area. They're sweeping in from Gaea's Cliffs," Bryan said, rubbing the bristles of an unshaven chin with the back of his bloodied hand. He stared into the white blur, catching the shadows of fiends as they barrelled past. "This is a disaster. The monsters from beyond these ravines are much more vicious than those we hunt for sport and pelt south of the village."

"So, what are they doing in town?"

The boy beside her sighed. "That's exactly the point. What _are_ they doing in town?"

"They're being pushed. We're damn sure of it," Melanie said, full lips carving a smile over her teeth. Aster was beginning to believe the prospect of bloodshed gave the warmth of this woman's smile, and she didn't know whether to be inspired or frightened.

"Pushed by what?"

"Somethin' bigger." The boy beside her leaned forward and cracked his knuckles. Sounded like he was deliberately trying to creep her out. "Somethin' _scarier_."

"If we can stop that," Bryan said, "we can stop these onslaughts for good."

"We're gonna go see what's makin' 'em shiver before SOLDIER gets here." Melanie snickered. "Then it's buh-bye Shinra."

"Bit of extra security never hurt anybody, Mel."

She straightened her back in her seat. "Still leaning on Shinra after all these years?" Her tone was more than a little accusatory; words left her mouth positively caustic. "After _everything you lost_?"

A chilly air seeped through the truck, but not from the snow. Aster watched Bryan, mouth agape, trying to gauge his reaction. He merely barked an empty laugh. He had been involved with Shinra to some capacity, but she didn't know what field. Hell, no one did. But what she did know was that it couldn't have been SOLDIER because his eyes were grey-blue. He lacked that SOLDIER trademark.

"Of course I cling to Shinra, 'long as I shit, shower and breathe, whether I like it or not." His rebuttal was cutting, sharp through stagnant air. "This is a Mako-powered truck, is it not?"

Melanie nodded curtly with a tight jaw, though no one had seen.

"Sure is," she said through her teeth. "Don't mean we need 'em to tuck us in at night, now, does it? I want freedom."

"We got freedom," the boy piped up, voice crackling. "What we don't got is a backbone."

Aster glanced at him sidelong, through narrowed eyes. "Talk like that and people might start to think you're against the Shinra."

"While sat in one of their trucks," Bryan added, eyeing him skeptically, but not critically. Appraising him.

"Far from it," he said, and not another word.

The enormous snow truck ploughed through the lowlands, spitting up sparkling dust in its path and mowing over anything smaller than an average man—which included small trees. Deep gouges in the snow lay in its wake, torn up by the tracks of the tank-like vehicle.

Aster's thighs were tense and trembling. No matter how hard she gripped them the shaking wouldn't stop. They were travelling away from everyone and everything she knew and loved. _Away_.

So it was met with half-relief when Melanie shouted, "Over there—look!"

Amidst the blowing powder of snow, several large, ugly beasts loomed. Colossal, wyvern-like fliers of navy, leathery scales dominated the immediate skyline. Their beaks tapered into needles; it was hard to say whether they were red by nature or coated in the blood of their last meal, but after taking a glance at the scorpion tails as long as their wing-spans, it was safe to say Aster didn't want to get close enough to find out.

The warning cries were piercing, but the party still made their advance. The group surged from the truck, grabbing weapons from the rack as they did, opening attack with heedless aggression. Melanie took point.

"Kieran, ammo!"

He threw a magazine towards her. She tore it from the air and jammed it into her rifle with unnecessary force as she charged towards the fiends, wasting no time but surely ammo, blazing a path through endless white.

The winged fiends, known as Lessaloploth to the learned, seemed accompanied by the bravest of the Bandersnatches around. The only ones that didn't run. The ones that couldn't. Their snarls became louder, like a rumble of the earthquake of before, and the ones that were able stalked toward the group of unlikely mercenaries.

Paws bundled in knotted fists of bone and claw. Jaws bared fractured teeth. Long, matted, damp manes of blonde and white draped over tense and corded, muscular shoulders. An offensive stance and a threatening snarl.

Aster pulled the butt of her rifle into her shoulder and carefully eyed the closest of the filthy dogs, watching it pull back its lips and pad through the trees.

It turned a pebble eye towards her and growled throatily, spreading and ruffling the putrid furs of its chest, either warning its enemy or sending a scented signal of danger to its kin. The stench was choking and pulled the trigger for her, bringing her into a semi-automatic heaven: a headspace reserved for assault.

Bullets lodged into the wolf's dirty chest. It charged towards her on four brawny legs and lunged through the air, slamming those knotted claws into her ribs. Her back bit the ground with a gutting thud. She drove her boots into its paunch to throw it from her and fired relentlessly in the general direction of its wounds. Long lacerations streaked its back.

She swallowed and stumbled back as the Bandersnatch keeled over for good. She hadn't inflicted those lacerations. Something else did. Something bigger.

Maybe Kieran was right.

"Aster, concentrate!"

She scoured the field for her chastising mentor. With his foot-long blade, he slashed the neck of an unlucky Lessaloploth that got too close in two places, leaving its head hanging. Wings limp, it hit the ground with a cloud of snow.

A shriek rang through her ears. The squawking cry of a lesser drake, but equally enraged. It lurched for her on swift, ragged wings. Tattered, damaged. Wounded.

She almost didn't notice it dive for her eyeball until some higher reflex forced her to duck and cower under her arms, but those reflexes helped her little in defending the blow to her chest received from the wyvern's stinger, which threw her off her feet. Once again for the eyeball, it missed only for the fact that a bullet knocked it off course and sent it plunging into the frozen earth beside her.

"I said _concentrate_!" Bryan bellowed over the cries of monsters and crack of gunfire, holstering his rifle and drawing his bloodied blade once more.

The monster, struggling to remove its beak from the solid ground, was blindsided when Aster socked the butt of her rifle into the side of its head. With a splintering, sickening crack, the beak snapped off in the ground.

"Gross!" Aster's back arched into the snow as she retched. A shadow trickled over her—a shadow cast by a freshly beak-less bird—and her daze was only broken by hot rain on her forehead. No, not rain. Blood. Blood dripping from an ostensibly melting face.

Which made the retching decidedly worse.

She shook the stun away and rolled to stand, firing off her rifle again but the bullets merely embedded in the wyvern's solid chest like cork stoppers in wine bottles. It slashed for her, narrowly missing when she sprang backwards. She caught her mentor cutting the throat of yet another oversized dragonfly on steroids. Inspiring stuff.

Honestly.

Aster snatched the snapped beak from its sheath in the ice. When the wyvern lurched for her, she grabbed it by the throat and skewered the beak through its neck. It hit the ground with a muffled thunk, spraying its murderer with yet more muck, blood and snow. She threw her arms in the air.

"OH, YEAH!"

The new wind in her sail soared her over to another wyvern. She slung her rifle behind her, the leather strap sliding across her chest and shoulder, and packed the shape of her heel into the snow in halt. Sleeping under the guard of her knee-high leather boot was a switchblade strapped to her shin, waiting for the moment she'd yank it out. That moment was now.

She smacked the blunt edge of the handle into the side of the beast's head and grabbed its slimy beak with her free hand before ripping the serrated edge of her blade through its bared throat. Each tooth snagged on gristly fibres, splitting blood in every which way. There was something too satisfying about the splattering of red swallowing away the purity of the snow.

Aster's eyes darted between lifeless carcasses. Fourteen, fifteen…

"And that makes sixteen," Melanie roared, yanking a wedged dagger from the depths of Bandersnatch lung. She waved it broadly at the fallen monsters.

But they hadn't killed all of them. Some of them were already dead.

Aster lurched forward, tripping over her urgency. "They were already injured. Something…something did this to them!"

"Correct," Bryan said, sheathing his iconic—at least in Aster's eyes—blade and sweeping back to the truck with a throw of his arm, ordering a regroup. "I'm not a gambling man, but I'm willing to bet that whatever it was that did this is the very same thing that has been driving these monsters towards the town."

"Wait!" Aster hurried to his side and placed her body between him and the truck. He towered over her by at least a foot and he was easily twice as wide, but her posture was not timid. She was dwarfed under his steely gaze, but not fazed. "We have to find it—whatever it is! Or the monsters will just keep coming back to the village!"

"Honey, this's far as she'll take us," Melanie said, sweeping past and slapping the hood of the truck. She was a striking woman, with beautiful dark, coiled hair brushing her shoulders, dusted with snow and, sure, some blood and guts in there, too.

"Then we'll have to go on foot!"

"Die trying, kid." Bryan pushed her aside by the shoulder and strode toward the cab. "There aren't many strong enough to conquer the temperatures of Gaea's Cliffs, not even someone born and raised here."

He looked off towards the north—maybe ten metres in this visibility, but the Cliffs were off that way somewhere. "Or raised here, anyway."

He slammed himself in the cab.

Aster fumbled for coherent words. "Wha—Melanie? What happened to being the heroes of the town!"

She folded her arms and spoke begrudgingly. "Old man's right," she said, although he could only have been five to ten years her senior. "Much as I might hate it…gotta leave this one to Shinra. Maybe even SOLDIER."

The door closed on her, too.

Aster stamped her foot in the snow and surveyed the area. Bodies littering the floor, blood melting the snow only for it to be frozen over and covered by more white. This time tomorrow there'd be no trace they'd ever even been.

"Are you kidding me? Goddamnit…"

And in she followed.

She flopped in the truck dramatically and sighed, throwing her hands behind her head. "Guess I'll just have to join SOLDIER, then."

The sound of the engine straining for the power to drag the truck uphill towards the town again almost covered the sound of Kieran's scoffing. Almost.

"And what would Shinra's elite SOLDIER force do with an eighteen-year-old figure skater?"

"You make it sound like I don't possess a valuable set of skills."

"You might. On ice. Not in war."

She picked at the beaded bracelet surrounding her wrist before folding her arms. "Well, someone's gotta protect the people."

"And Shinra has that bit covered," Bryan said, "…for the most part."

* * *

By the time the party disbanded and Aster reached the outskirts of town, the sun had laid to rest. In February, sundown was no later than four, but the streets should've still been filled with people going about their business. The only business dealt here was with a body bag. One for the woman in her thirties, and a pile for the monsters yet to return to the planet. Shivers prickled Aster's spine. This town couldn't take much more before grinding to a halt.

Six confirmed deaths, two missing persons.

And yet by morning, all evidence would be erased, just the same as her earlier battle. New snow would settle, blood beneath the blanket; out of sight, out of mind.

She cut through woodland to prevent coming into contact with the infantrymen patrolling and clearing the area. She went the road-less-travelled frequently, although never for such a disturbing reason—to avoid the dead. Light was low but reflected off the pillows of undisturbed snow that wound between the conifers stretching their needles, sure to touch the low clouds and skies before they found anywhere near the tops of the mountains beyond them. She trudged through them until she stopped dead in the tree-line before a small clearing.

A looming, black truck sat like a predator in a shadow. Three solidly built men stood beside it, two clad in a dark, purplish hue, and one in black, watching something in her general direction. Waiting.

Her breath caught in her throat. Not even a fool would fail to recognise them as SOLDIER.

The elite fighting force of Shinra Electric Power Company, the governmental rulers of the planet. Genetically engineered men who are deemed worthy of pure strength of mind and body. A prized accomplishment of Shinra. SOLDIER, who only need to be seen and not heard, yet heard when they speak.

The wind seemed to halt, doubling, trebling the pressure surrounding her neck. Many had never seen a SOLDIER member in the flesh up here in the north—hell, before the recent monster invasions, there were children over ten who had never even seen an _infantryman._ Shinra Inc. owned most of the television channels on which the world was taught the recent heroics and promotions of their elites. Their names and faces would be broadcasted when they won, and when they died. They were truly remarkable and both boys and men alike would dream of the day they might join their ranks, even if the chance of making it was slim at best. They were elite for a reason.

SOLDIER eyes bored straight into her own.

Bright. Abnormal. Blue, blue and green and blue, glowing—glowering—through the grey cold and black damp, almost less than human. Almost more than. Aster's own blue eyes were nothing like this. She watched these unnatural eyes on hers and never had she felt so _normal_. A clear divide. Something sank in her chest as she looked them. She wondered if their chests were sinking, too.

If they knew what was coming, they just might have been.

Then, through the shadows of the trees, she caught sight of a sturdy man in a sharp black suit. One of the Turks. Looking straight at her.

Molten rock pulsated through her heart. Terror. She kept along the tree-line, maybe four trees deep and gradually going deeper, striding with purpose but as quiet as the cushioning snow beneath her would allow. Of course she was heard. SOLDIER-standard hearing probably heard her before she arrived.

The concrete man in a suit—the aforementioned Turk—placed a finger gently to his ear. Soundless, but far too loud.

"Target acquired. Heading towards anticipated haven."

Her heart rose to her mouth with intent to choke. Her face was numb, lips likely blue, but her legs pushed on, unrelenting. Running in the snow wasn't easy—luckily she'd had plenty of practice. Despite that fact, buried tree roots still threatened to trip her and her ankle almost gave. Low swinging branches whipped and scratched at any exposed skin, and in general, the elements were against her.

With every stolen glance over her shoulder, the man in the suit and sunglasses was just a few steps behind, carving through brambles and thickets effortlessly with a short blade.

She pelted out from the trees and towards the residential streets of Icicle Inn. Her boots skidded on the packed ice over ploughed pathways but she dared not take the snow route for fear of leaving footprints. She pulled down an alleyway she knew to offer another route home and watched as the Turks operative strode onward through the street.

Her lungs shuddered as she collapsed into the wall, breath billowing into a cloud. Somewhere towards the inn, she could hear roaring, juddering winds and perhaps a call from an infantryman, or member of SOLDIER, in the distance. She'd never outrun SOLDIER. She pried herself from the wall and picked up a jog, deeper into the alleyway, winding through the backstreets. Quickest way home—now the only way home—was through a small snowfield.

She darted for the fence of the field and yanked herself over the edge with little regard for her shoulders. The snow should have been cool on her fingers as she stabilised her shoddy landing but feeling was gone. There was no time to spare a glance back to see if she was being followed. It was best to assume she was.

More exposed than ever with nowhere safer to turn. The backs of her boots rubbed into her heels and her skin was blistering and screaming in pain, red and angry. They stung like they were bleeding but at least it distracted her from the searing burn of her lungs, cracking of her lips, and aching of her thighs. Her footsteps were the metronome to remind her to keep the pace.

Maybe another fifty feet was all it would've taken.

The still air and silence were replaced with wind which grew rough and choking, getting worse and worse and louder and louder until she could no longer run and the light was blinding. Unnatural.

She scrambled away from the light, throwing her arms in front of her face. Peeking through them, she stared into the brightness until her eyes began to adjust and could see more than just white and a blazing halo, and could, at last, see what was turning her long twin braids into violent whips that lashed her cheeks.

Without claiming to know much about air travel, she knew the vehicle to be the B1-Beta series helicopter whose lamps glared down on her.

To Aster, there was nothing in this void. Just herself. Just the droning, whipping, chopping. Just the heat of the light. Nothing else. Maybe melting snow. No natural warmth. No breathing. Perhaps she wasn't breathing at all.

Her fingernails dug deep into her skin as she grabbed her arms as though she were trying to peel it back and hide under it somehow. She tried to scratch back her thoughts and senses but could only wish to sink into the ground beneath the snow, away from the intense heat of the lamps and the slicing of the rotor blades. They taunted her, tilted towards her, threatening to scalp her and have her crumple in a beheaded heap. She tried to push that ridiculous and overall futile thought out of her head, thinking only:_ At least it would be over then._

The brightness dimmed only slightly, but just enough for the girl to make out a figure standing on the helicopter's carriage platform. She squinted until she could distinguish a man with black hair slicked into a ponytail, deathly pale skin and a suit. A suit notorious in its own right. The infamous suit donned only by the Turks.

She knew who he was; only fools didn't. This man was not a regular man, but an extremely unpredictable man. A dangerous man. His eyes that tilted upwards just slightly indicated a western background and were much less eyes than they were black pits with no discernible iris or pupil, as though they were both one and the same. They drilled into hers almost painfully, even if he looked less aggressive than he did observant. She could feel herself shaking, yet nothing else but fear.

The toes of his shoes hung off the edge of the platform as he loomed over her. Teetering. For a moment, he looked as though he would jump—from almost the height of a small building—and maybe slaughter her in a way only the Turks could.

As her mind ran away with possibilities, her body stood rooted in shock and her breaths were short and choking in the choppy winds. She mourned for the options she hadn't taken. For the escape she could have made. For the way out she hadn't found. She wished to any given Higher Power that her body may have been fixed to the gravestone she had never managed to find, and not this circle of light in which she could undoubtedly face death.

That was when he jumped down, with the barrel of his pistol licking her chin.

"Don't even try to run."

Snowflakes and icy wind whistled into Aster's throat as she sucked a breath through her teeth. Dry throat and cracked lips. The cold had won over her fingers and began to seep up her arms, chilling her blood and taking hold of her heart. She was well-acclimatised to the weather, but not the fear.

"Get in."

Her chin, pulled by puppet strings, tilted toward the light to expose her throat to the ghostly iris of the gun's muzzle, but her eyes stuck solidly on his. The emptiness of her gaze betrayed the warmth of her outstretched palms: a welcoming, a surrender, or a peaceful acquiesce.

Would the cold take her life before this man had a chance? He knew he hadn't the time to wait and find out.

He smacked her upside the jaw, steel of the cold pistol splitting her skin as her teeth cracked together. She stumbled, touching her wound numbly, dazedly. Hot blood slid over her fingers.

The second blow came quicker than the first. Blunt steel of the pistol butt clubbing her skull. In a crumpled heap, she fell in the snow.

Six confirmed deaths. And make that **three** missing persons.

* * *

**A/N: I hope to update every Wednesday! Really hope you enjoyed this first instalment. And don't worry, things get a lot more confusing before they get any better ;) Have a lovely day or night wherever you are in the world, and please do drop me a line!**


	2. The Floating City

**A/N: Good morning/afternoon/evening! Thank you so much to everyone who has read this and given it the time of your day to stick with! I was genuinely floored that people actually favourited and followed and reviewed and even read it at all—seriously, thank you so much, you literally made my week. Writing is the only thing keeping me going these days and to think that you guys enjoyed what I'm putting out there means so much to me! Speaking of which, if I get waaaay far ahead in terms of the number of chapters I have written, I might increase upload speeds to like three a fortnight as opposed to one a week, but we'll see! For now, I'll keep updating every Wednesday! **

**Thank you so much **hifivebuddy **and **in citrus heights **for your super nice comments, I hope the following chapters live up to your expectations! The story is a bit of a slow-burn, but it gets big…you'll see!**

6th Mar '19

**Disclaimer: **Just to remind you—not mine (but Aster is).

* * *

**Chapter 2: The Floating City**

The B1-Beta series helicopter lurched through the air, through the snow, and over the Northern Continent's formidable cliff walls that had always protected it from intrusion via sea. Boats couldn't travel to the Knowlespole easily. It had clearly granted its people with an inflated and baseless sense of security; turns out you could be snatched from the sky within a mile of your own home.

By the time Aster came around to the whistle of the rotor and rumbling groan of winds and gusts, the helicopter had long since passed those cliff edges and had banked over the dry and rocky mountainous regions attributed to the East. Alone in the passenger cabin, her capturer presumably in the cockpit with the pilot, she peered through the window to a sight equally breathtaking and horrifying.

Dying earth and dry lands in the distance, a knot and tangle of steel and skyscrapers reached towards Shinra Headquarters, easily the tallest and most important structure on the planet. A statue, a reverie, homage to its overwhelming power.

At landing, she was dragged from the aircraft and met without eye contact or regard. Her open mouth was incapable of forming words, and when it did the words were not heard.

The floor that stretched beneath her feet was over-clean to the point of mirroring. In it she saw her face daring her to go on, begging her to stop, and flash every shade of doubt in between. And maybe it really was the persuasion of her reflection, but more likely it was the clicking and smacking of the feet tailing her, that forced her onward to an elevator.

The doors were of heavy metal, inches thick, and lay veiled under the shadow left by a long red light above. Its gory glare hollowed out Aster's cheeks and sharpened her cheekbones. To look at Tseng, her captor, may have been frightening.

When the angry light soothed into seafoam so, too, did their features soften. Green light swam into his eyes, but the disguise was short-lived. As soon as he stepped into the round, glass elevator, the light lost its hold on his face, and inky black returned as hollow as ever. Aster chose not to look at him. She was vaguely aware of another person entering the elevator behind her, but she kept her gaze on the small control panel, wary of meeting Tseng's face again. She did not turn around until she was startled.

Broad with tanned skin, the man was so tall that had Aster not been stood in a reflective glass elevator, she would not have been able to see all angles of his head to prove his total baldness. Despite being indoors and late in the evening, dark sunglasses masked his eyes—but no one would need to see them to be intimidated. Deep creases between his eyebrows gave away his perpetual scowl, and his rough goatee and eight various piercings only added to what seemed an already unapproachable man.

Worst yet, his suit was identical to Tseng's. Another Turk.

And she knew this to be the Turk that had followed her through the trees of Icicle Inn. She'd recognise his foreboding presence anywhere.

When Aster's body didn't respond to her will to move, Tseng brushed past her and pressed a numbered key and the green button on the control panel screen. The transition between stationary and rising was smooth as the platform was sucked upwards inside the curved sheath of glass. She reached her hand out to it and it ran away with her fingertips. Streams and streams of endless glass cascaded like falling water, sinking away beneath her.

The neighbouring elevator pulled a few suited employees twenty storeys down, plunging as though to crash into the Plate below. Only then did the grandeur and glamour of the city splayed beyond before her hit her firm in the face. Her gasp was utterly choking.

The sky was blue and black like bruising flesh, and concrete and steel stretched out beneath it. The city was a forest of buildings, with paths of train tracks and creepers of cable. Sidewalks that she could see from a bird's eye view glowed like golden moats surrounding apartment buildings and stores, lit up and sparkling by the streetlights. She swept her gaze from left to right, the city unbroken save for large barriers that split off their respective sectors, of which she could see only two: Sector Four and Sector Five. And how could an outsider know? Only by the massive reactors that jutted out of the ends of those huge walls like mammoth knots of steel, with thick curtain walls joining each one in the giant fortress that together became Midgar. Painted on the front of the nearest to Aster was '04' signifying the sector it governed.

"Omnipotent capital of the planet. Her reactors create Mako energy to keep her running, and Mako provides her people with electricity, fuel for cars, and warmth for their homes." Tseng spoke monotonously; he must have explained this one thousand times. Or maybe that was his natural tone. He continued, "The Shinra Electric Power Company went on to build many more reactors across the world to provide the people with an easier way to live."

"Reliant on Mako," she added, murmuring as though she spoke something that shouldn't be heard, "but comfortable."

"Indeed," Tseng said. "And this is your home now."

While her expression was unreadable, her nostrils flared as she pulled in a deep breath.

Her eyes drew over the reactors that spit their plumes of Mako up into the air, slender ribbons of green and bursts of watery blue shooting into the sky above. Eight of these enormous machines formed a rampart circle around their castle, the Shinra Headquarters, and together they provided for her and her city. Midgar was alive, she pulsed, and she breathed through reactors.

The platform slowed and bobbed as it locked into place, but the doors remained shut fast until Tseng swiped his keycard in the control panel. After a quiet _ding, _the doors drifted open like blown by a small breeze, weightless, with a faint mechanical whirr.

Despite having unceremoniously crowned Midgar Aster's new home mere moments ago as though it was some kind of an honour to be a chosen citizen, he snatched from her the opportunity to steal one last glance by dragging her through the doors. Her eyes clung to the Mako spill of one of the reactors, and even after the doors sliced between her and the splay of Midgar beyond the glass, the bright greens and blues still burned behind her eyelids like phosphorescent ghosts.

The corridor stretched left and right, although she couldn't see where either ended since both wound off to who-knows-where, but she still knew where she was. Out of the wall jutted the number sixty-six, black floats emerging from pale water, right next to a set of ceiling-high, gold doors. The diamond indentation of the Shinra logo called out to Aster's urge to touch it, and the only reason she managed to refrain from dragging her fingers along each embossed line and chiselled shape was that Tseng's voice distracted her.

"You will meet with Heidegger, Head of Public Safety."

Some kind of chuckle both rose and died in his throat when Aster tensed.

"Relax," he said darkly. "He won't like you."

Another panel bleeped as Tseng's keycard cut through it. The fault line where both doors met had been indiscernible until they began to pull apart, creaking and groaning like they hadn't been opened for decades. They were built thick like vault doors—in many ways Aster supposed this room _was_ a vault since some of Shinra's most precious jewels would gather here. Not many would ever be granted the chance to see the innards of this chamber.

A sprawl of plush red carpet spilt beyond and a long conference table stretched its old wooden fibres, in a fruitless attempt to touch the back wall where a barrel of a man stood with his back to his new company. Thirteen seats lined the table in all, twelve of grand leather, and one of lavish velvet at the head.

All around, pillars touched from the floor to ceiling, half embedded in the walls. These pillars were the trunks of once great trees, their bark still clinging to their sides, likely treated. They must have been old, judging by their sheer size, and it was almost a shame that they would not be permitted to rot away for the planet to reclaim them and birth them again. Aster would not have blamed a man for wrongly assuming the glowing orange lamps protruding from the trunks were real flames threatening to burn down these great trees, especially for the way they flickered their warmth onto the ivory walls between. The blend of oranges and reds and flames was only broken by the far wall, a sheer pane of glass that carried in the hue of a dying sky.

Gazing through this wall of glass was the man baring his broad back to Aster and her armed chaperones, and she was so focused on the creases between his shoulders in the stiff green fabric of his suit that she almost didn't notice the presence of others in the room. Aside from Tseng at her right and the unnamed Turk to her left, two others sat across from each other at the table. The pressure of the air taught Aster they had interrupted something important.

A rigid man, whose joints seemed awkward and misplaced, pushed his glasses up his nose. Thick blonde hair brushed his shoulders in a similarly inflexible way.

"Twelve months have seen this young woman aptly manage our Military Academy. She has already begun training this quarter's infantry cadets. I have no qualms allowing her to work with my SOLDIER Thirds."

"SOLDIER? Gya haa haa!" The large man barked incredulously, his voice callous in a sandpaper throat. "_SOLDIER?_ She's just a girl!"

There was 'just a girl' sat at the table opposite the blonde man, and judging by the pulse of movement in her jaw, she was the girl in question.

"You think she can keep up with SOLDIER? You think she can _train_ SOLDIER? Deusericus," he drawled, and despite his shaking shoulders, something sinister—perhaps a bitter tang of rivalry—glazed his words with an oily slick, "you are out of your mind."

"In my right mind, Heidegger," the man retorted calmly.

"The infantry I will allow, but she must prove her worth before she teaches SOLDIER to be weak."

Lazard Deusericus leaned back into his chair, casting a glance over the girl facing him. "Very well. This will conclude our meeting."

Aster looked at the girl whose silky walnut hair was so dark it could have been black, but her gaze was not returned. She was staring off towards an air duct in the ceiling, jaw still tight and eyes severe. Aster almost chuckled. Yeah, she felt like bolting too.

Without turning to look at her, Heidegger said, "I'll be keeping a close eye on you, Lockhart."

"As will we all," said Tseng as he stepped forward, sparing her a glance for but a moment. "Apologies to intrude, Heidegger. We brought you the girl."

'We brought you the girl,' he said, like she was some meaty carcass, a prize for the pack leader, being dropped at his feet. She turned her nose up with a frown.

She instantly regretted her pride, though, when the man in green turned to face her squarely. A puckered scar ripped through his flesh from his hairline, over his right eye, down his cheek and beneath his salt and pepper beard in an unbroken, if you could call this tear unbroken, gash; a canyon in his face. Stony eyes glared forth; how his right eye still opened beneath such thick scar tissue was beyond Aster, and beyond any other to ever meet him.

"Ah, the Selective."

A shiver struck her spine.

The girl at the table pulled away from her set gaze and drew her eyes to Aster's face. She was aware of eyes stuck to her body, yet couldn't take her own off Heidegger. Even with the sprawling table between them, she did not feel safe. She feared he would clamber onto it and charge towards her on all fours like a well-dressed but bulging ape, and shred her face with his bare hands to carve her a scar that would rival his.

He did not charge down the tabletop but slithered down the edge of the room with long, slow strides, his shoulders back and buttons of his jacket under strain as his gut bulged against them. Aster did not doubt that those buttons were solid gold and, like the doors, each had the Shinra logo intricately detailed on them.

His eyes crept up her stained body. Beneath his calculated glare she was naked; vulnerable. She knew then that if she were ever to see him after dark, she was going run.

"We have big plans for you, but you are slight and weak." His sharp words descended into a growl, lips curling. "Tseng. War is raging. You better know what you are doing."

The Turk nodded coolly. "_I_ would not fail a mission of this import, sir."

Heidegger's voice plummeted to a gravelly warning. "And if you do, there will be hell to pay."

Tseng did not react.

"I have seen enough." Heidegger's voice bellowed and if those lamps had truly been flames they would have trembled. "Do not waste more of my time!"

He strode for the door and dug his shoulder into Aster's neck when she refused to move out of his way. His beard, wiry and rough as an old scourer, scratched her jaw as he turned his head, driving her to drag her wrist against her irritated skin in disgust. He smelt of metal and rot.

To avoid a mouthful of hair and hide her racing heart, Aster stepped back to meet the scowl that burned like a cigarette being put out in her eyes. He had always liked to gauge the grit of men by how long they could stare into his marred, ugly scar without timidly looking away. Aster did not disappoint.

"Maybe there is hope, after all."

He shoved past her and left the room, leaving her unsteady on her feet, but even still she was content with having held his stare. Her voice came out with a crack as she rubbed her aching throat. "Was that a test?"

Lazard jerked his chair and body towards her, the table gutting him in doing so, eyes severe. "Everything is a test."

Aster shrank in on herself under his intensity, and as though nothing were said, he resumed his almost unnatural aura of composure.

"Tseng. Rude. And," he began, leaning his elbows on the table and resting his chin on his white-gloved, locked fingers. Without Heidegger around, he seemed to own the room. "Who might we have here?"

Aster opened her mouth but Tseng spoke in her place. "Our Turk Selective."

Lazard nodded faintly and regarded him with cool eyes. "I see. And how is that mission coming along, Tse—"

"—Smoothly, Director."

He stood up. Tall, but not broad nor built. Compared to the man Aster now knew as Rude, he was twig-like. Whoever this man was, he was not half as intimidating as anyone she'd met so far—and that included the girl sat at the table. He was not built for combat but was rather like the glasses perched on his nose; fragile, with a spindly frame.

Regardless, when he spoke, he didn't have to bark like Heidegger to assume attention.

"Very well. It appears we are done here. Please escort Miss Lockhart back to the residential courtyard."

Five people were not to fit in one of those elevators, so Rude led Lazard and the mysterious young woman into the rightmost whilst Tseng forced Aster into the left. She stumbled in, sucking her lower lip into a frown at her mistreatment, but it sure beat being pointed at by a gun, so she wouldn't complain. She would hide her fear beneath petulant behaviour.

Before all were in and settled, Aster peered into the other elevator through the glass and studied its occupants. Well, Rude certainly was bald.

But he didn't hold her attention for long—the girl seized it. She was still and composed; her clasped hands behind her back formed a triangle of worked and toned muscles with her shoulders. She was half Rude's size, but he had his eyes—if there were any behind his shades—constantly trained on her, so there was no doubt she was potentially dangerous. Aster wasn't in that elevator to be able to tell for sure, but even from a distance, the girl seemed to be controlling the atmosphere inside. Still air, almost like she made it so.

As though she could feel Aster's eyes, the girl turned to meet her through sheaths of glass as her platform began its slothful descent. For a moment she seemed to deliberate. Then, she smiled.

Midgar's first smile to Aster—all others had been false or with spite. She _did_ have to make a conscious decision to not ponder over why the girl gave her a measuring look before offering her smile, though, because some things just aren't worth thinking about. Judging by the kind of place Midgar appeared to be, smiles were rare, and Aster would take what she was given.

She spent so long trapped in her thoughts that by the time Rude's elevator had fallen out of sight and her own began to rise, she couldn't recall whether she had smiled back. The girl's face was gone, and Aster's own eyes stared back from the glass in her place. Swollen, red. Following the _ping_ of the doors and the tiny growl of the mechanics, the captive led the captor out.

The floor beyond was a spill of grey, polished so thoroughly it appeared glossed. Were all floors of the Shinra Building so clean? Aster wondered who the cleaners were, how hard they must have to work, and who, after they spent their lives slaving over the ground, would clean their dirty, tired knees and dried knuckles.

Floor Sixty-Seven. A corridor wound to the right, white walls lit by glowing bulbs every ten or so feet. She counted each as she passed. One, two, three, four. Anything to distract her racing thoughts.

"W-where are you taking me?" she asked, voice hoarse as he dragged her onward by the wrists.

Taking a left, he didn't speak. The panic. A new, unlit corridor. Then, a right. Shallow breaths. There, she counted six red lights above six steel doors, three on her left and three on her right. Dead end.

Second on the right. Aster's heart pounded, eyes misting over with hysteria. Tseng unlocked the door, grabbed her by the shoulders and threw her inside. A cell.

Horror reached its fever pitch and surged through her every fibre. She scrambled to her feet, ripped the switchblade from beneath her boot and plunged for his chest.

He snatched her wrist and wrenched it behind her back. With a jab of his free elbow and tripping her ankle, he slammed her face-first into the ground, her cheekbone smacking into the ground with the brunt of the fall, pain shooting through her teeth, her nose. He stabbed the blade into the floorboards, ripping it from her fingers, a whisper from her throat.

The wind was sucked from her lungs sharply, but she couldn't cough without feeling the blade. Pinned beneath him, a knee in her back and a knife at her neck, she was helpless. This was end game. It was over.

"A few inches to the side and a good angle and I'd have severed your spinal cord. More pressure here," he said, leaning against her twisted arm and eliciting a scream deep in her gut, "and I would have dislocated your shoulder. At the least."

Breath rasped from her throat, sweat slipped across her brow and tears pricked at the corners of her eyes but she blinked them back. Struggling was futile. She quickly realised that that was the point.

If the struggle was pointless, it meant the struggle was over. Some relief came from accepting her fate. Panting, she attempted a nod. "Under…stood. But…if you wanted me dead…clearly, you'd have killed me already…"

He nodded for his own benefit and released her, standing up and offering a hand in aid. Her shaky shoulders pried her body from the floorboards, and when she managed to bat his hand away obstinately, she could have sworn that for just a moment he had smiled. But her head was still fuzzy and the room spinning, so naught was gospel.

Lazard's words hung in the air: _Everything is a test_.

She stood, but stumbled.

"Cast away your conceit now; you _are_ disposable. And bear in mind that sometimes," he said, as he ran his finger along the blunt of the switchblade—his respect for the weapon could have been mistaken with caution, "it is safer to be unarmed than armed."

She squeezed her fists at her sides, trembling. "But not for you."

"Only one of us is out of their depth here, Doe."

"_Doe—_wait_, _how did you kn—?" Her eyes shot wide and blood ran cold. Her jaw recoiled from a blow delivered by shock, face washing over even paler than before. "That's impossible!"

This time he definitely smirked. He twirled the survival knife between his fingers as deftly as he ignored her probes.

"A gift," he said suddenly. Casually. "Purchased from Icicle Inn's weapon store, in the same plaza as the inn your town is named for. Bought for your eighteenth birthday."

Aster's voice faltered. Her stutter betrayed the faultless façade she was working so hard to maintain in front of this truly deadly man. She shook her head aggressively, and it pounded for it. "But—"

"—You don't think we'd find it interesting when a potential SOLDIER candidate purchases a weapon?"

"SOLDIER candidate…?"

"The gift," he pressed, as though she should surely understand what was most obvious. "It was bought by your brother. Let us think. Daniel Upchurch. Sixteen years of age. Five foot nine inches tall if you failed to measure him recently. That's two inches taller than last you scribbled his height on the doorframe to your kitchen."

The beating drum of her heart hammered against her chest, her temples and her throat. The walls of the room closed in on her, air became harder to breathe. The notion of having been the target of such detailed surveillance dawned on her like the sky falling down.

"Yes…one thousand eight hundred Gil, it cost. That's quite a substantial sum of money for a sixteen-year-old to afford, don't you think? There again, the family you were raised by was rather affluent, was it not? Have you ever wondered how that family gained such good stead?"

When met with no response he put the blade in a holster sitting just beneath his suit jacket.

"Regardless, while it is true he had our attention for a while, so have you."

She shifted her posture to mask her wavering bravery. Back came her petulant veneer with a sour pucker of her lips. "Of what kind?"

"Probing for information but not willing to give any in return, I see. That's fine. Your mother died when you were young. Goddess only knows who your father is. Orphaned at one. Adopted before two—oh, I'm sorry. I do hope you already know this, I didn't bring tissues."

Her jaw hitched and Tseng would not have missed it. She snapped, "Of course I already know. Your point?"

"Don't pretend you didn't know _someone_ was watching you all those years."

It was startlingly clear that this spy was not always one step ahead of Aster, but two or three.

"You work alongside an ex-Shinra employee. He is an unremarkable man with an unremarkable career, but that is how you acquired some small sums of skill. Such is why you are here now. Mostly."

"Mostly—?" But she was cut off.

"Maybe you have what it takes," he said, "to progress."

Her fists finally loosened, deep red grooves left in her palms from her fingernails.

"You may prove valuable," he said. Carefully. He eyed her. "We are in need of someone who doesn't exist. Someone you could potentially become. That is all."

"For SOLDIER?"

"Not SOLDIER. The Turks."

"For the—!"

"—Shut up before I change my mind."

Snatched away were all her questions and breath.

"Aster Doe, you will be spending your nineteenth birthday with Shinra in just under two months, will you not?" With no response, he pressed, "_Will you not_?"

"Sounds like it."

He whipped his hand across her face without a moment's warning. Vibrations of pain buzzed between skin and skin, and a blush of shared red stung her cheek and his palm.

"Watch your mouth."

She stared at the ground. Tears brimmed blue eyes but she would not wipe them away. "Yes, sir."

He smoothed the skin of his angry palm along the other like wiping a weapon clean of blood. Dark eyes spared her a glance, watching her internalise her anger. Each spring of muscle in her body turned and coiled, increasing the pressure in every limb and every word and every breath. He wondered how much more she could have left to give; a swift jolt and she may simply lose it.

"And by your twentieth birthday, Doe, we'll have you with us. Should you succeed."

Her head snapped up with one of those coils. "And if I don't? What then?"

"Then you may not see your twentieth birthday at all."

Frustration crowned and burst through her veins. It erupted into outstretched palms that smacked the wall like paddles with a crack louder than her cheek had screamed upon Tseng's abuse.

"What if I don't want to be in the Turks, huh?" She screamed, then strode up to Tseng's face. "What if I don't want to work for Shinra?"

He didn't react, merely looked down into her face coldly. "But we know you do. We have an alternative course of action, though, should you refuse to cooperate. Or fail. It is true he would make a better member of SOLDIER than a Turk, but needs must."

Tseng's tongue passed over his lip. It was somewhat shocking to see how normal it was. She was expecting some sort of slithering, forked ribbon of obsidian muscle to protrude from the darkness of his throat.

"So, go ahead. Walk out the door if you like," he said, stepping aside. "We'll just return to the Northern Continent and pick up your little brother."

The needle of fear that spiked through Aster's chest to meet her spine and send a jolt through her entire body must have glowed golden sunlight. Surely, because _something_ made Tseng's eyes glimmer in satisfaction, and it could only have been that.

"So." The taste of his smirk poisoned his voice. "You will work with us?"

Tongue swelled by speechlessness in the palm of the Turk, she nodded meekly. A battle against this man would not be won. Not now, maybe not ever.

She preferred not to think like that.

She turned on her heel. "So, this is Shinra."

"This is Shinra." He nodded. "And you'll remain in this cell until training begins."

Except her training had already begun.

"Is this a punishment for assaulting you?" she said, turning back to assess his body language. Stiff.

He gave a short laugh, more frightening than if he had yelled or punched her or slammed her face into the floor again.

"No. Your punishment is the bruising on your cheek that you will wear with shame for a week. But I suppose you won't have to be ashamed because no one will see it as you will be in here."

Her posture sagged, clothing hanging off her frame like on a wire rack, eyes unfocused. Concussion? Exhaustion? She dragged her wrist over her cheek, stifling a wince. Her voice came out much smaller than she intended. "Then why…?"

"You have nowhere else to go."

And with that he stepped back, the heavy door slid closed, and the light above the door turned red once more. Her tired eyes burned, tears of acid spilling over her waterlines. She swallowed each of his words like a dry pill of lead that sat heavy in her stomach and dragged her to her knees. Though the bed was pressed to the wall beside her, her spine craved the rigidity of the floor to teach it to be strong again.

So she rolled her back into the cold, hard wood beneath her, and let her bones crack and settle into place. She stared into the ceiling, the throbbing of her swelling face timed neatly with the ticking of a clock she could barely hear over the rush of her own blood, and she wondered who had been in this room before her.

Maybe a young civilian with glasses and a white lab coat who deceived staff into allowing her to pass into the libraries full of Shinra's most private information, believing she was indeed a Shinra scientist.

A renegade SOLDIER, privy to enough secrets that he gained a taste for more, who threatened the head of the Science Department, hoping he would divulge his knowledge of the secret behind SOLDIER, and why no other scientist across the planet could crack the code.

Or perhaps a terrorist, maybe Wutaian descent in an act of the ongoing war, who threatened the lives of countless innocent people, or even took those lives in cold blood.

All of these hopeless wonderings to distract herself from one heavy, heavy fact.

_You have nowhere else to go._


	3. The Object of the Spider's Eye

**A/N: Hi! Hope you're all well! Bear with us here, a lot of the information set in chapters two and three become more important as time goes on :) I literally cannot wait until we get to the real juicy stuff—but we have to get there first! Hope you're having a fantastic day! The canon characters besides Tseng really start to make their appearances from here on out, and eventually, they take up the major positions in the story that they deserve :) Thank you for still being with me on this!**

**Updates every Wednesday! (UK time that is!)**

13th Mar '19

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**Chapter 3: The Object of the Spider's Eye**

Labyrinthine twines and tunnels of the Shinra Headquarters nestled around a small, dark room, lit only by dozens of bright screens clustered together along a wall like the eyes of forty spiders. An eye stared into every room, every corner, and every forgotten corridor. Where anyone may be afraid to look, a camera was placed, and the image burned into the screens of this hidden cavern of surveillance.

One eye, in particular, was devoted to 67F Cell E.

67F Cell E held a slight, flimsy-looking girl, whose pallid hair was discoloured by both old blood and the war of two lamps; one paling in a corner, too dull to quite submerge the room in the colour of the sea, and one of hot red over the door, reminding the prisoner of the unforeseeable—and irrefutable—length of her stay.

Aster staggered into the metal frame of the bed at the edge of her cell. She allowed it to bite into her thighs and palms to support her weight, but she wouldn't justify its existence by using it. The mattress, if it could be called so, was worn to nothing. If it was a gym mat before it was less than cardboard now, with springs that might have encouraged some form of comfort years ago now poking out like upturned pins. It was a bed of nails poorly disguised as something less sinister. Besides this and a plastic toilet basin squatting in the corner, the room was nigh on empty.

The only adornment was an illuminated clock face on the opposite wall that demanded Aster's full attention. A sickly yellow-green backlight that shadowed the hands bored into her corneas like tiny, moving tattoos. The needle ticked steadily in line with her irises.

_Tock, tock, tock, tock, tock. _

Hollow and lacking the reprieve of a _tick_ though it was, the monotony effectively became a metronome for Aster's heart to keep steady and calm. It was too quiet to fill the empty space but too loud to give much room for thought.

She couldn't allow herself to think, anyway. Her parents, her brother, her sister. Overwhelming pain. Her throat was raw from screaming and crying, but neither aided her with any form of reprieve.

A hatch opened, offered food, and snapped shut again. Perhaps 'food' was an overstatement. Her palms stung as blood rushed to where the metal frame of the bed had cut it off and screamed against curling around the dry, loaf-like article in front of her. She was certain it was edible, despite looking desperately burnt and brittle, but only because it was what she had eaten four hours and twenty-seven minutes ago, and seven hours and thirteen minutes before that, and two hours and fifty-three minutes before that, and…

And so, she never knew when her next meal was.

Deprived even of routine. She did know, though, that it had been precisely sixty-one hours and twenty-two minutes since the door had clamped shut and the red light began to gloat at her—plus the five minutes it took her frenzied brain to work that out. She also knew that her calculations were probably somewhat wrong, anyway, because she couldn't bear to face the truth.

She danced, sang, screamed more, cried more. She pressed her ears to the door and walls to catch bits and drabs of slipping conversations, like a haze, a dream. Loneliness began to creep around and she talked to her hands and the bottles of water she was delivered. She stacked them up and knocked them down, used them as weights and exercised. She rationed them, too. Some for drinking and some for cleaning. She rinsed the blood and sweat from her hair and skin as best she could. She looked better, but cleanliness couldn't mask bruising. Her chin. Her cheekbone. Her body was covered in cuts and grazes. It was a good job that there was no mirror because she would not have recognised herself. She thought that maybe that would help disconnect the self from the body, looking at a reflection you can't recognise, so she'd remember to drop Tseng that tip for next time.

She had to remind herself that she was alive time and time again. Then, she started to stop believing.

Days passed with irregular arrivals of strange loaves that sat uncomfortably in the stomach and almost tasted better coming up than going down, and nothing else but the moving hands to secure her, hold her with a throbbing grip, and remind her that time will always go on.

Until time stopped and the silence was deafening.

Sucked away was the air around Aster, her next breath along with it. Silence did not creep as shadows do but rather toppled through the door and crashed into the floor, breaking like a wave against a wall and dousing her in the very same icy cold. The room froze, time was void, and a ringing seared through her ears, prickling her spine with panic until she realised the ringing was merely the screaming of her own mind, overwhelmed by the enormity of nothingness on nothingness.

Blinking once, twice, did not remove the impossibility before her. The clock stopped.

_No, please…_

The clock could not have stopped. Those steady hands had dragged her through time; they had been all that had got her this far. In their absence, panic seeped through the floorboards, rising like a thick mist to settle in her throat with means to choke.

"No! _Please_!"

She lunged for it, smacking it with the heel of her hand to jerk it awake, trying to remind it that time will go on, as it had for her. Her palms throbbed and screamed, fingers raking through her hair, dirty with grease or blood or sweat. Head pounding, room swirling in a wood and white whirlpool, her knees clunked into the floor—though she was sure she was floating.

* * *

"This is pathetic. Unconscious!" Heidegger smacked the desk with a fist like a cannonball, with complete disregard for the flashing lights and buttons and delicate apparatus within the room of spiders' eyes. "Tseng, where is your point amongst this inanity?"

"In her coping methods," he muttered, leaning against the desk towards the screen intently, answering to him only because he was contractually obliged to. "She relies on the clock, I remove it. Remove each crutch until she's left only with her mental defences."

Heidegger seemed momentarily appeased, with a gruff sound of assent growling in his throat. His hand curled around his beard. "You are trying to break her?"

"ASURA will do that."

"Gya haa haa! Along with those before her. You're searching for the unbreakable?"

"No. That's where you failed before me," Tseng said, with more than a bite of irritation. "All humans are breakable. I'm just looking for someone harder to break than most."

* * *

Light sliced open her eyelids and filled them with blood. Groaning, Aster parted her forehead from the skirting board and her chest from the floor. She wiped her eyes to clear the blood and realised only then that there was none, it was merely light of the locked red door. The backlight of the clock face was gone, dead, lost, as though it were never there, and no matter how long she had been unconscious, time surely had not passed because it was still 27 seconds past the 17th minute of the 5th hour.

She rubbed her forehead, sure it was split in two. The skirting board and her head were an axe and chopping block in reverse. She imagined dropping something brittle on something hard. Her head pounded and cracked and throbbed. Throbbed and throbbed and throbbed, like the second needle.

There was hope in a pulse.

When she closed her eyes and concentrated, she could feel it in her throat and in her temple, in her fingertips and in her split lip.

In time with each rush of blood, Aster turned a white bead with an 'A' on it on her bracelet.

The next meal came in 5,498 turns.

She had almost reached delirium. Or maybe she passed that point a while ago.

Hours, days, weeks or years crept by unknowingly, and time slipped away like feathers in the wind. It had been months since she had slaughtered Lessaloploths for her people, since aggravated monsters were her biggest concern—it must have been years. She begged, pleaded with Tseng the single time he arrived outside the door simply to observe, for the time. He told her to get a watch.

Slowly, the room began to revolve even when she wasn't laid in her bed of nails. She turned those beads whenever she needed to remind herself: time goes on.

And when time was all but lost and everything outside the four walls of the cell ceased to exist, the hatch opened but food did not arrive. For a moment, Aster was thoroughly convinced that insanity had finally sunk its rotten nails through her skull and into her brain, because, for whatever reason, her next meal looked suspiciously like a pair of human hands.

Her fingers fluttered faintly at the prospect of interaction, and tentatively laid to rest atop of those open palms. It was a brief performance, small respite from the ache of solitary confinement. Cut short. Her arm was violently yanked through the letterbox-like shutter up to her armpit, her skin stretching and beginning to tear. Her scream perforated the door as her tiny bracelet was stripped from her wrist.

"No—! Wait! Stop!" She begged, arm now limply swinging out of the hatch. "Please, give it back!"

Her arm was shoved back through the door, and in its place now sat a pair of black, cold eyes.

"_Tseng_!"

As though it was trying to drive out a hole in the inches-thick steel door, Aster's palm smacked into it rhythmically, desperately.

The hatch stung her nose as it shut in her face. It opened once more, just wide enough for Aster to hear the familiar patter of beads against a concrete floor.

"GODDAMN YOU!" She screeched, sweat forming along the brow of her reddening face. But screaming and crying wouldn't open the door, or solve the mess she so seemingly willingly walked into, so with one last swift boot to the door, she turned to sulk on the bed of nails until her next meal.

It never came.

After who-knows-how-many hours and minutes (as it was still 27 seconds past the 17th minute of the 5th hour as far as she was concerned), and an even less established number of heartbeats and bead-turns later, a fresh set of clothes sat where her next meal was meant to be.

Cotton brushed her fingertips as she picked them up. Perhaps "fresh" was a term to be used loosely; the clothes smelt as though they had seen naught but the inside of a cupboard somewhere dark and damp for several months—and in many ways, she felt the same. Dusty and cold as they were, compared to what little she had been given to get by over the past tens of thousands of heartbeats, these clothes felt like feathered wings.

To remove the horrendously disgusting, blood and dirt ridden clothes she had been wearing since the assault on the Lessaloploth was a blessing in itself. Only when confronted with the new did she realise how much the old stank. Her only complaint was that while she could remove sodden clothing, she couldn't strip her grimy skin. She would have to wait longer. New clothes would have to do for now.

The crew neck t-shirt was fitted for women but fit for a woman two sizes larger than Aster. At least, she thought, no one would see her ribs, though her shoulders looked bony like a wire frame. She could, too, hide her hipbones beneath the thick, blue combat pants of some strange scratchy material and the nondescript belt they had supplied her with.

To hide the accumulation of grease and sweat and possibly blood, she scraped her hair back, twisted it into a bun and pulled the standard Shinra helmet over her head. Her eyes hid beneath the shade of the helmet that jutted out over her forehead, with its three glowing, eye-like triad of lights at the front, but there was nothing she could do to cover the hollowness of her cheeks or the dullness of her skin.

Cadet uniform. Not the full whack of the infantry uniform, but the standardised gear they supply to their grunts during basic training. Something that not too long ago she would have begged to have been in. She thought she'd feel pride in a moment like this. She really didn't.

"_Oh, Tseng. You ought to know by now that I won't aid you._"

Aster's head snapped up. Eyes wide. The voice was clear, crystalline, pitched and decidedly feminine, but far away, out of reach, and beyond the darkness.

"_Lock me up as long as you like! You know I'll just escape again._"

"_Ever a child_…"

"_Insult me. But you need me more than I need you, Tseng. It's always been that way._"

"_It is about more than just you, this time._"

"_Hmm. Or is it?_"

Aster could hear the unmistakable whisper of a metallic door and controlled click of a lock through the wall. She knew, after all, as she'd been dreaming of the sound for however long she'd been in this wretched place.

The voice of the girl in the room over strained against the apparent sealing of her room. _"Ha ha… I'll be out in four days, Tseng. Watch me!"_

"_Then I will collect you from the slums in five._"

Aster's newly booted toes glowed red with the light of the door, until the room flooded with green following the chirping of a keycard panel. The door slid from its tight clamp with a sigh.

To Tseng's, rather muted, surprise, the girl stood right in from of him, rocking backwards and forward on her heels and toes, possibly a side effect of losing her mind. Aster's lips parted but her jaw didn't have chance to fall. She lifted her helmet to reveal her face, blue eyes were far too wide to be entirely sane. Like a deer in headlights. Living up to her name. She just had to know the time. _Needed _to know the time.

He offered her no chance to speak.

"Hands behind your back and move it. Open your mouth and I'll swipe it from your face."

Whatever snarky comment had been sat on her lips dissipated into a pathetic breathy pant and her mouth closed, whether she wanted it to do so or not. She stepped out gingerly, the yellow and white lights of the halls blinding against the darkness to which she had become accustomed, and although she had spent two-hundred years staring at the foreboding red light above her door, she couldn't help but stare at the door next to hers—the one with the girl in, the girl who seemed to hold some kind of grip over Tseng. Locked.

And so in silence, omitting the sound of footsteps and general bustle Shinra Headquarters produced, the girl of eighteen was escorted through the building and out towards the nearby army grounds and campus whose silhouette in the skyline was impressive, but not so as the great building in whose shadow it loomed.

It must have been mid-morning, judging by the sun that burnt her eyes from having spent so long in the dull light of Cell E. Her breath puffed around her red nose and cheeks in the February mist—actually, was it still February? It felt too warm to be February, compared with Icicle Inn, anyway. She daren't speak. She'd save her questions for later.

More than the wintry mist though, bursting through the door into a standard infantry training room stole her breath. Not the countless pairs of eyes that were now upon her, no, she hadn't even noticed them, but rather the glossy, pale, wood flooring and handrail that ran along a mirrored wall at the far side. She was not prepared to be blindsided by such a recollection of home. Her child- and teen-hood. Those long hours spent in a room just like this, completing a very different kind of training.

Aster did not look out of place with her mouth hanging open, as she only reflected the men of the room and one certain martial arts instructor. Tseng's presence brought along a heavy air of authority, and each cadet snapped into a standard Shinra salute—many sloppily, many late.

Tseng jabbed her back. "Line up. Now."

She stumbled into a place between the men, frozen like statues, and mimicked their stance, biting hard on her lip to stop the quivering.

He drew in. Almost nose to nose. She looked more through him than dare to stare back into seething black stones as he yanked the helmet from her head. Filthy blonde hair fell from beneath it, brushing the middle of her back.

Out from his pocket, he pulled a snapped bracelet and a fistful of beads. He shook them in a fist near her temple.

"In terms of a debrief this is all you'll get. You coped. Barely. But if I find you so willingly displaying your weaknesses again," he snarled, "I won't snap the stupid bracelet, I'll choke you with it."

He threw the beads into the floorboards and they scuttled and sprawled all over. The broken thread landed at her feet.

"You exposed yourself, _enabled_ yourself to be exploited, and I didn't even have to dig. Your enemies will find your every weakness, use them, and they _will_ destroy you." He ground his teeth. "Fix. It."

Aster's face grew redder and redder, forehead beginning to sweat and eyes misting under the pressure. Publicly chewed out and humiliated upon first meeting these recruits. Of course, this was his intention.

"Lockhart has offered to provide you with extra training given as you are now two full weeks behind. I cannot think why she would have any interest in offering a little girl respite unless there's something in it for her. I wondered if she couldn't stomach the sight of your face dripping with blood when she first saw you, but she is a martial arts instructor and you are a fool, so that seems unlikely."

"Yeah," she said shakily, voice cracking. "I was bleeding spontaneously. You didn't twat me 'round the chin with a pistol or anything."

"Careful, Doe," Tseng said, alarmingly tersely. "Now more than ever."

The pressure of his glare made her body tremble, intensified by the thickness of the air and stillness of everyone in it. Sweat rolled down the back of her neck. Hair fell into her face and she tucked it behind her ear hastily, as though the feathery light touch might shatter her hard-kept expression. Her guarded wall was that flimsy, as flimsy as her whimpering resolve.

"I do not want to threaten you—"

"—But it's in your very nature."

There was a shift of uncomfortable movement and unrest from the cadets surrounding them. Trying not to look and trying not to look away. Even the instructor shuffled in her boots, holding her muscles tighter than they should rest. It was the girl with the long dark hair of before. Tifa Lockhart.

Not one breath was taken until Tseng made a dry sound in his throat. He surveyed the room.

"Fall out."

Silence. None dared to move.

"I said _fall out_!"

"Sir!"

The room surged with life. Hearts beat again and cadets sprung into training as though there had been no pause, instantly returning to their sparring partners, entertaining their set moves and patterns more vigorously than before in case he was watching. He wasn't.

"You'd better familiarise yourself with these grounds. You'll be training with me every day before PT and breakfast. I hope you like mornings."

When satisfied with the shame she faced, he threw down her heavy helmet with a bang. The thick atmosphere that had surrounded them loosened as he strode from the room and slammed the door in his wake and the draught that raised with it blew away the rest of his looming presence. As though that tension had been holding up her weakening body, Aster's head fell to her chest and she crouched to pick her bracelet and lost beads from the floor, willing her frame to shrink away from the scrutiny she faced from those surrounding her. Those supposed to be her new team. Those who had seen Tseng tear strip after strip from her. And he made it look damn easy, too.

But who was she kidding, it _was_ easy. She had made it easy.

She kept her head down, vision blurring, carefully picking beads from the floor, hoping that maybe if she didn't look at anyone, no one would see her.

"Mate…you got a death wish or something?"

She reflexively snapped her head up to meet a pair of hazel eyes not a few feet away. Damn it. She blinked hard a few times, lessening the overall wateriness of her encounter with this young man.

He winked and flicked one of the straggling beads to her with his thumb like tossing a coin.

"Held your own."

Aster pursed her lips and lowered her eyes. Whether she agreed or not was another story, right now she just needed him to go away, and he did just that with the snap of the instructor's finger. He shrugged and drifted back to his sparring partner.

Tifa strode over after a moment's contemplation, slipping the leather tie from her raven hair and releasing it down her back. She tore off a narrow strip of the fabric and offered it to the shamefaced girl before her.

"Here."

Aster looked up at her with a quizzical expression, although not for the reason Tifa had thought.

"To fix your bracelet."

"Ma'am…!" Aster clutched the leather strip and shoved it into her pocket along with the beads. "Thank you so much, ma'am."

Another contemplative look. Then, she shook her head. "Tifa is fine. We met before I became your trainer. No need for formalities. They make me feel old, anyway."

The ghost of a smile touched Aster's face. It felt strange, and her lips cracked against the idea. "Tifa, then."

"Are you okay to proceed or do you need to check in to the infirmary?" She asked, pointing to the now old injuries and fading bruising to Aster's face with her wine-red eyes.

"What, on my first day? Not a chance," she said, burning with new resolve. Resolve to prove herself. She bundled her hair back up into a bun—or something resembling a bun or dead dormouse, anyway—and pulled her helmet back over her head. "Actually, may I ask the time?"

"Ten-fifty."

"And the date?"

"February twenty-sixth."

So it hadn't been years after all. She pulled herself back to her feet, stronger than before.

Tifa looked at her in mild disbelief. "You _sure_ you don't need the infirmary?"

"Huh? Oh, no. Thank you."

Aster stood only a few inches taller than Tifa, and a few inches shorter than most of the young men around her. They seemed to be giving her a wide berth. If it was because her skin was covered in blood, mud and sweat then she couldn't say she blamed them.

"Alright, then. You're gonna have to catch up and catch up quick, alright?" Tifa placed gloved hands on her hips. "You'll be taught slightly backwards; we're doing kicks, knee-strikes and stomps. This lot have already begun basic upper-body strikes and punches."

"Admittedly, you'll struggle unless you've done martial arts before," she added.

"Not really…maybe some basic stuff."

"Well. Means I won't have to iron out any bad habits." She must have seen the flash of uncertainty take Aster's features. "You'll catch up."

Aster pursed her lips in a poor attempt at a smile as Tifa returned to the head of the room. In fact, she commanded it, even with her small yet clearly powerful structure. She was flanked by two presumably male, presumably drill sergeants and then a solidly built man in a black uniform appeared, leaning against the back wall with strong arms folded across his chest. Dark hair and a controlled presence, although that was all Aster could gather of him from her position near the back of the room.

"The front kick: raise the knee and foot of the striking leg and extend for contact with the target. This is all about control of the body. Focus on the thrust of your hips and connection with the bag. Don't compromise your balance: doing so may be fatal if you cannot recover in battle."

Tifa struck a free-standing heavy bag with her steel-capped boot. The crack of metal on leather was phenomenal. The strength of her position and how she held it perfectly to speak was equally so. This girl was iron and lead in perfect packaging. Even the collective sounds of a class full of amateur martial artists kicking the crap out of heavy bags were nothing on that single connection between Tifa and hers. The sound of power reverberated between Aster's ears for a long time to come.

Long before the end of the day, the other men of the room smelt just about as awful as Aster. She longed for the massaging pressure of hot water against her skin, but would not be granted such luxury.

After being screamed at for incorrectly following a military command, Aster stood red-faced in formation with twenty-three men before being led out to dinner. She had just reached the door when a gloved palm pressed into her shoulder, halting her while the rest of her new platoon filed through the hall and out of sight. She tensed immediately, awaiting a blow.

It never came. It was a firm touch, but not a harsh one. He wasn't hitting her. She let her body relax for only a second before she realised who was holding her arm. It was one of the figures that had drifted in and out of the training room, keeping open an eye. It took her a second, but she snapped into a nearly correct salute and stance. Oh, she knew who this was. Who didn't?

"Not bad considering you're two weeks late," he said with an assured smile. "Rest."

Though her eyes were covered by the shadow of her helmet, the parting of her lips and failure to move reminded him she'd likely have no idea what he meant.

"Oh, right, I mean—you can relax. Doe, was it?"

She nodded apprehensively. He was young; in his early twenties. Far too young to be giving her orders and donning the iconic uniform of a First Class SOLDIER as he so clearly was. His hair was black and fell to his shoulders in an unusual quill-like way. His features were striking. His attitude was different. Didn't look like he was about to hit her, at the very least. More than could be said for Tseng's perpetual scowl.

She found herself glad to be protected from his gaze, hidden underneath her helmet. Ashamed of herself, embarrassed of herself. Couldn't even look at him, though she didn't know why.

"You need to report to the infirmary directly after mess for blood and urine tests and vaccinations. Yeah—" he snickered at the immediate, accidental, scrunching of her nose. "It's almost exactly as fun as it sounds. I'll come get you later and take you there. Cadets aren't permitted to go anywhere alone in stage one."

For the most part it was like he was speaking a foreign language, but she nodded regardless.

"It's Fair, by the way," he said, stopping the automatic door from closing by holding a hand over the sensor. "I'm one of the SOLDIER members overseeing this season's cadets. No doubt I'll be seeing you around."

"Sir."

Fair delivered her, as promised, straight to the infirmary after mess, and straight into Tseng's hands thereafter. Her body froze automatically to the sense of his presence. Conditioned to do so. But she relaxed when a nurse accompanied him. The thought of Tseng stabbing her with needles was almost as terrifying as the prospect of him stabbing her with knives. No doubt he'd handle them with the same mastery, discretion and lack thereof.

As the nurse wiped off her arm with a disinfectant wipe—effectively reducing the grime on her arm to a record low of the past few weeks—Tseng spoke.

"I'll return you to the quarters in which you will live until basic training is over. Be aware that first call for the cadets is later than that it will be for you. You have a fuller schedule than they," he said. "I suggest you use this evening to familiarise yourself with the various buildings of Shinra."

"Tseng—Sir, I was told by a SOLDIER member that cadets have to be attended at all times."

He folded his arms and nodded. "He isn't as far as incorrect, only he is when it applies to you. You have express permission to manoeuvre unaccompanied within the Shinra grounds on account of your being a Turk Selective, not an infantry cadet. Your drill sergeants are aware, even if the whole of SOLDIER is not."

She sucked a breath through her teeth as a needle plunged into her skin. Tseng looked unimpressed.

"You can stare down the barrel of a gun unfazed and yet a needle takes your breath away. We have a lot of work to do, Doe."

* * *

He had the decency to chaperone her to the door to her barracks. It hid underground—or rather, embedded in the plate—in the same compound as the training areas and mess hall that sat in the shadow of the Shinra Building. Then and there he abandoned her. The officers at the door, dressed thickly in stiff red uniforms, nodded in acknowledgement and unlocked the door.

So cadets live like prisoners, too.

Upon entering, the general bustle of twenty-three men in the room in their off-hour ground to a halt. Awkwardly, she scanned the two rows of beds that stretched towards the back of this trench-like room without making eye contact with anyone, and quickly spotted the only unclaimed bed, directly to her right. Closest to the door and wall. Obviously the worst spot in the room but it worked for her, as hidden away in the corner as it possibly could be.

On her bed sat a familiar pile of blood and dirt-soiled clothing. She stared at them for a moment, isolated from the returning animation of the rest of the room. Laughter seemed far away. Smiling, foreign.

She perched on the edge of her metal-framed cot, face to the wall, back to the men, and unravelled the clothes in her lap. It was like discovering the remnant possessions of a deceased loved one. In many ways, it was precisely that. Like finding strewn clothing of the dead on train tracks. The clothes belonged to someone Aster once was, but she was gone now.

Nestled amongst the blood-caked fabric lay her thought-to-be-lost switchblade. She stifled the gasp she was desperate to seize and smoothed a finger over the deep red handle. About four-inches long when closed and a couple wide, the only reason it could be referred to as a switchblade was the flicking mechanism that engaged it. She clamped her jaw shut. Weaponry was hardly permitted in the cadet bunkers. Knots pulled in her stomach. 'It is safer to be unarmed than armed.'

_Safer unarmed than armed_.

She bundled the blade up in her sodden old clothes again and stole two, three, then four paranoid glances over her shoulder. Twenty-three men and boys and in-betweens talking or reading or off in the shower room at the back or showing off. None passed her a glance. She swiped open her designated wall cabinet beside her bed and stashed the knot of fabric packaging in the back corner and closed the door just as quick. Another glance. They acted like she wasn't even in the room.

A shuddering breath rattled from her lungs as she wiped her quaking palms over her thighs. If anyone found out she was harbouring a weapon in her belongings animosity would soar at best and, at worst, her life may face genuine danger. From the military, sure. And quite possibly from the squad.

The mattress creaked as she threw her back into it, pushing her hands to cover her welling eyes. She could ask herself why Tseng would possibly do something that he would surely know could potentially hold immense repercussions, but she already knew the answer. To instil hardship.

To test.


	4. Confinement in Isolation

**A/N: So, hey! Sorry these chapters are so long? This one is like 6,000 words which is at the higher end of my average word count. Although of the twenty-eight chapters I have currently ready and written, this one isn't even the longest o_o I reckon this story is gonna end up at like…300,000 words or something. Gives me life, honestly. I've been so stressed recently I have no idea where I'd be without a brain dump and project like this to lose myself in! Seriously, thank you so much if you're still with me on this and giving it a chance! It gets SO GRISLY LATER ON I can't even. So excited. **

20th Mar '19

* * *

**Chapter 4: Confinement in Isolation**

Four thirty in the morning came with a sharp blow to the gut. Literally. Aster woke up spluttering into a clammy palm, unable to scream—or breathe.

"This is your wake-up call. You have thirty minutes."

Tseng withdrew the baton from her abdomen and his hand from her face. Fear put on hold, she grabbed a fresh set of kit from her locker and strode through the room between beds of men in various states of consciousness to the showers, ignoring the pain from her stomach and the unwanted presence of her mentor.

It was a curse that came with its blessings. Yes, she was required to begin her training at least an hour—though usually two or three—before First Call for the rest of the cadets, but it meant she avoided the compulsory communal showers at around zero six hundred hours. An alarm clock in the shape of a bludgeon at the end of Tseng's arm was worth it. Nothing could beat this.

The head sprayed above her, dousing her with an icy stream that snatched her breath and tensed her every muscle until her body was tempered steel. She fiddled for the temperature tap, gasping for air that didn't seem to fill her lungs, only to find no such thing.

People take cold showers to build their will-power, but since there was no option, she could only presume she was being taught to endure rather than oppose.

The tiles surrounding her toes turned to mud and wine as the last remnants of stubborn monster blood let go of its hold on clumps of greasy hair. The dirt beneath her fingernails finally gave. Cheap soap slid and lathered over her skin, a sudden luxury; a reminder of a time she must have lived like a princess, where shower gels and bath bombs lined the tub.

She whimpered when she bit her lip too hard, having chewed and fussed over the tender skin until it became raw. She couldn't allow herself to think of home. Pain seared so she shut it off, refusing to aid Tseng by breaking herself down without even so much as a nudge.

The shower expired and locked after exactly five minutes, refusing to acknowledge Aster's persistent pushing of the button with her palm. Defeated, she wrung out her hair, shivering, and tore a towel from the rack to offer warmth and remove the suds she hadn't had the time to rinse away. No time for anything, anymore. She yanked on her uniform and twisted her wet hair tight until it met her scalp and tucked in on itself, where she pinned it into place as shown by a female officer late the night before. Over this, she pulled on her helmet to cover her face. Anonymity was always the best masquerade.

Assuming she was being watched, she slipped out of the barracks ignoring the sensation of eyes against her back. She saluted the officer on guard for no reason other than it felt like she was probably supposed to, and stated her business. Tseng was right. The Drill Staff did seem to understand she was more than—or less than, depending on who was asked—a standard cadet. It felt off, uneasy, but she ignored the niggling feeling in her gut and brushed it off as something to think about at a less pressing time. Down the corridor, Rude escorted her directly into Tseng's care for zero five hundred hours precisely.

Leaning against his desk with his eye on a clock, Aster wondered if the man ever slept. He never seemed tired, only constant. His suit was crisp and pristine. Not a hair out of place in the same white hair tie as usual. She half expected his neck to twitch and the whirr of an engine or battery to sound from within him but, by all accounts, he appeared human.

"Doe." He nodded to her by way of greeting. "You must have questions."

She hesitated. If she spoke, would her words rip out her throat? And if they didn't, would the man before her?

He recognised her apprehension. "There is no deceit. You are free to ask."

Void. She came up empty. Nothing came to mind as easily as she had thought it would. The questions that had fought and tumbled over one another while denied the chance to speak crumbled away beneath her feet.

There were questions she assumed would reap no response, and questions of little impact that would waste an opportunity. Tseng watched her battle over her own thoughts.

Eventually, she sought clarification. "…You want me as part of your team because you think I could potentially become someone you need."

"Correct."

"What do you _need_ me for?" she asked, with the narrowing of her eyes.

"Difficult to say. Mostly because the answer is strictly classified," he said, pushing himself off the desk. "We need a specifically trained individual to combat an issue that cannot be disclosed unto you until much further down the line."

"That wasn't even an answer!"

He shot her a warning look and she folded her arms tight against her chest. "Fine. How long will this take?"

"You will complete basic training with the infantry cadets. After pass out in ten weeks, there is an eight-week transition period of additional training that readies those that wish to attempt the next round of SOLDIER examinations. During that time, you will adopt the training programme you wish, alongside that which the Turks require of you. The end of that period will see you undergo your own examination. A test to decide whether you make it into the Turks."

She scowled at him. "Then why lock me up for two weeks when I could have been training?"

"It _was_ training," he snapped. "Mental fortitude is equally as important as physical strength—especially in the Turks."

She nodded curtly as her body prickled with relief. It was the song she wanted to hear, confirmation of what she thought she knew. But Tseng appeared to disagree—vehemently—with the notion that she truly understood.

"The reasoning will be beyond you," he said. "Trust me and trust what I put you through is with good reason."

"_Trust_ you?" she spat as though the words burnt her tongue. "Trust _you_?"

He simply nodded. "And when the time comes, I must trust you, too."

She blanched, but Tseng's still expression did not alter.

"Time is up," he said. "You asked better questions than some of the Selectives I've seen over the years."

"W-wait," she croaked, then swallowed hard to attempt to moisten her throat. "Do my parents know?"

He paused before he spoke. "Yes. They had been informed. You will not be permitted to contact them."

She nodded faintly before it gained traction and fervour. "Right..." She wiped her palms against her thighs. "Right."

Tseng allowed the silence to envelop them for a moment as he shuffled a few files and papers and placed them on his desk beside him. "Now. Show me how observant you are. Tell me the model of the helicopter we collected you in."

Aster stammered while she recalled the information. "It was a B1-Beta."

"Good but too easy." He slammed his hand down over the pile of files with a thud. "There was a code on this document. What was it?"

"_What_?" she snapped, expression severe and strained. Angry at a useless, arbitrary test, but as she cooled her head and became honest with herself instead, she realised was only angry because she knew she had thoroughly lost a game she could have won. A missed chance to make him look like the idiot for a change.

"Come on, Doe. It was only nine characters," he taunted. "Are you telling me you give up?"

"Sir…" she conceded.

He whipped the note across her face, slashing her cheek with the familiar sting of a paper cut. "Your employee ID, you fool. You could have at least deduced that from the letterhead or subtitling. These are things you have to learn and fast. You haven't much time."

The letter fell face up on the floor.

Aster Doe: 005-03-TD.

* * *

Days passed, apparently—the clocks said so and god_damn_ did she keep an eye on them—but everything was rolling into one for Aster, as it probably was for the other cadets, too. Every morning, predictably, to the minute, she was woken to the hard belt of a baton to the gut, and the black and blue bruising was making training difficult. It was a weak spot that she feared to expose to the world, so she suppressed her winces and kept it her secret.

She only saw her 'comrades' in training. At lunch and dinner she had been there physically, but ignored, and in both drill sergeant time and personal time in the evenings, she was always elsewhere. It bred distaste.

"Line up in lap time order!" was the first thing the drill sergeant in charge of Skill at Arms said following the cease of a one and a half mile run.

Eleven minutes and nine seconds.

Not great, but respectable for an amateur runner. Terrible considering that she was not applying for the infantry, whose requirement was twelve forty-five, but the Turks, who demanded ten minutes flat—a lower time even than that required of prospective SOLDIER members.

Of twenty-four she came in sixteenth, thanks only to the athletic nature of her life in Icicle Inn and the stubborn streak that wouldn't allow her legs to stop long after her lungs began burning.

"You'll be known today as your numbers; I will not learn your names until you prove to me you're worthy of having one!" He bellowed, spittle flying from the corners of his mouth.

He stalked into the face of the leaf-like rattling boy last in line. "And with a name like Twenty-Four, you're off to a bad start. Did you even fall inside the twelve forty-five, boy?"

"N-no, sir."

Aster couldn't keep her eyes forward as demanded. She dared a side-eyed glance but wasn't quite daring enough to turn her head. He was young, in demeanour as well as appearance; guessing sixteen may have been generous. If all the instructors numbered their cadets based on ability and went by the elusive overall leaderboard of aptitude that the DIs liked to refer to sometimes but didn't often show, this would not have been the only DI to label him Twenty-Four.

"What was that?"

"No, sir!"

"Then what _was_ it?"

"Thirteen twenty-one, sir…!"

"Thirteen—! You better get your sorry ass back out there and rerun it, do you understand, Twenty-Four?!"

"Sir!" he cried, sounding more like he was trying to psych himself up than convince the DI he could pull a sub-twelve forty-five out of nowhere, and hit the track.

Aster snapped her eyes forward again. Kid didn't look like he'd _survive_ another round, let alone beat his time. As the almost-forgotten paper cut on her cheek tingled at the thought, she found herself glad that for once it wasn't her being singled out.

The instructor grumbled to himself and straightened his famed red infantry captain hat.

"Partner with your closest number—"

A grunt erupted suspiciously close to Aster's right.

"Problem, Fifteen?"

"No, sir."

The DI stalked up to the boy. Now, so close to Aster, she noticed just how enormous the man was, bearing the captain's garb proudly. Then again, at less than five an a half feet tall most of the men she encountered in Shinra dwarfed her to some degree, but she barely even reached the height of this man's chest, and to be fair, Fifteen only reached his shoulders.

Guilt struck her. She only knew these boys by numbers, too.

"You're right. There is no problem. Anymore." His voice raised steadily until he was simply shouting. "I was about to demand Twenty-Three's time and send him off to track with Twenty-Four so I wouldn't be left with odd numbers, but you've solved my issue with your big mouth! You're gonna stay here and beat your damn face while Sixteen pairs with Seventeen and so on. After fifty, I'll let you know if I want another hundred, a hundred and fifty, or two-goddamned-thousand, do you hear me?"

"Yes, sir…"

"I said: _do you hear me_!"

"SIR!" he screamed, passing Aster a not-so-subtle glare as he lowered himself to the ground and began his sentenced press ups.

Seventeen, on the other hand, seemed placid enough. Maybe not thrilled to be paired with the only girl, but not enough to actually say so. That could possibly have been due to the indiscriminate display of tyranny the drill sergeant was demonstrating in strength this morning. Maybe Seventeen just lacked the gall to test the waters.

Skill at Arms proved to be useful as far as supplying twenty-two of twenty-four cadets with fake weapons possibly could be. They could not and would not be trusting a bundle of youths, some fresh out of schooling, with loaded firearms before they could prove themselves efficient and safe when handling. Aster carried this false rifle with her all day, by the end of it feeling like she was taking care of one of those battery-operated baby simulations that cry when you put them down.

It was weighted, though not excessively, but still her muscles began to sting over the constant strain it put on them. When she rested it against the ground at the start of Hand-to-Hand, she quickly wished she hadn't.

"Congratulations, idiot. You just put seven holes in your instructor. Think she can teach you full of holes? THINK _AGAIN_!" He loomed over Aster, shouting until both parties were equally red in the face.

She lost 'points', although she had no idea what points, how many she had left, or where they'd put her on the scoreboard that he yelled about at the end of the week. Humiliation was a common tactic amongst these sergeants of Shinra. At least everyone was being screamed at. Mostly equally. Maybe Twenty-Four got it a little harder than most.

A collective sigh of relief blew through the room when the sergeant left not long after lunch, but Tifa wasn't exactly a pushover either. In many ways she was less so and was quick to punish those who quipped out of line, demanding equal respect as what was offered to her peers, although unfairly having to work harder for it.

"Working in pairs today—"

_Joyful_, Aster thought with a scowl beneath her helmet visor.

"—But don't get too excited, I'm splitting you all myself. Rohrbach and Newberry. Sparrow and Barnhill…"

"Doe and Surrexit," she called eventually.

Turned out that Surrexit was the was the boy on the first day who helped her reclaim the beads to the bracelet she still hadn't fixed. Her wrist felt oddly vulnerable without it there.

She eyed him cautiously as he wandered over, but when he winked at her with a grin after pulling off his helmet and revealing some of the world's worst helmet hair, she was so surprised by his candour disposition that she laughed.

"Oh, like your hair is perfect," he scoffed and ate his words when she peeled away her own helmet and took a bow, hair still neatly pinned in place, if squashed. He ran his hand through his dirty-blonde mop, shaking his hair out dramatically. "Okay, maybe it is. But take a second look at mine."

"Absolutely beautiful," she joked.

But he _was_ pretty good-looking, albeit in a conventional, forgettable, and almost boring kind of way. Typical short back and sides hairstyle, shapely jaw and tanned skin. He was probably around six foot tall and appeared strong yet lacked definition, something that Aster suspected would change over the coming months of training. When he smiled, as he seemed to often, she could see the top line of his teeth were straight and the bottom crooked. His accent was broad, relaxed and scattered with somewhat playful intonations. Wherever he was from, it definitely wasn't Icicle Inn, and it wasn't Midgar, either.

She took a risk, with this boy, a personal risk, and offered her hand. Hoping that perhaps he'd be the first to take it.

"My name is Aster."

He accepted it gladly. "Surrexit."

Okay, maybe not first name basis, then.

Tifa dispensed boxing pads amongst the group. "It's all well and good learning technique against a stationary punching bag, but accommodating for your target's movement is an important aspect of combat training. Partner A practices his strikes while partner B observes his movement—learn to find those telltale signs of an incoming strike, and absorb their blow with your mitts, got it? Go."

Despite the disparity in height, she compensated with flexibility. It took a while, with blows coming slow, but eventually, Surrexit found a position for his hands somewhere she could reliably reach. Aster was just pleased he wasn't treating her with the same wide-berth she had been met with so far from many of the others.

But he must have grown bored, because he suddenly snickered to himself manically, holding the mitt above her head.

With a dark grin, she stretched her leg into a split with naught more effort than the readjustment of her hips. It was less of a kick and more of a gentle high five with her foot, but it got the message across nonetheless.

She took a bow before his incredulous expression. "Figure—former figure skater."

"Okay," he mused, with the quirk of his mouth. "So you're like a combat coryphée."

Identically bemused as he before her, she laughed. "Maybe if I picked up ballet."

He chucked the boxing mitts at her chest, and she caught them just a beat after they knocked a breath from her lips. "Nice knowing what I sleep next to."

"Yeah, well," she said, yanking the sweaty gloves over her hands and tightening the straps. "In-the-bed-next-to. Not with."

"But I still get to watch you get dressed."

She dropped her pad below his incoming fist with a look of disgust, but he caught himself before punching into the now empty space and readjusted his blow, laughing.

"Relax, I'm kidding! I respect your privacy. 'Sides, you're never even there in the mornings!"

"Oh, yeah," she laughed weakly, feeling her cheeks reddening but the heat subsiding.

"I use my imagination instead—"

"Oh, ew—goddamn you!" She thrust away his connecting strike and shoved him in the side, smirking all the while.

There was something about this that he found hilarious, especially in the returning reddening of the girl's cheeks.

"Alright, alright, I'm sorry. Truce, okay?" He lifted his hands with a mock-apologetic look on his face. "Truce?"

She pointed at him with, well, basically her entire arm since her fingers were indiscernible beneath the boxing pad and roared, "I reject your truce! Surrender!"

"Never!" He boomed like a dork, ignoring the stares and judgement earned from surrounding cadets, and spun a roundhouse to her proffered glove.

Amidst the profuse sweating and heavy breathing, and above all the inappropriate connotations that may spring to mind, Aster had easily the most entertaining training session she had had so far. It had felt almost like she had believed it should, back in the days that she used to dream of being in this very position.

Aster kicked Surrexit's gloved hand only to find that he dropped it limply to his side, resulting in a miss. She recovered, but before she could ask him what the matter was, she felt a presence in the air and turned to the door. Tseng. Still observing her, analysing her, as she knew he had ever since she set foot on his helicopter.

No. Much before then.

Everything she did meant something, and everything she didn't do seemed to mean even more.

She glanced back to Surrexit with wide eyes. Always quick to confide her weaknesses, Tseng would say. The boy met her with warmth, but equally a gaping stare.

Tifa punched the palm of her hand, oblivious to her guest. "Cadets! I want us to try a set move pattern—"

"Miss Lockhart, if I may interrupt." It was not a question, it was a statement. Tseng begged no permissions. He stepped from beyond her, black eyes boring straight into his Turk cadet, making her wish once again she could shrink under her skin, heart racing faster and faster, anything to get away from him. His expression looked bleak. Or perhaps it would have done if it weren't his default face.

"Uh," Tifa stammered. "Go ahead."

He hardly waited for Tifa's last word to pass over her lips before striding towards his trainee. "Over a week into training, Doe. With men completing their third."

He swept a glance over the room, chilling the air and raising hearts to throats. Aster realised she was the only one not standing to attention. She didn't correct herself, either.

"Men don't progress equally," he said, the heel of his boots clunking into the floorboards and rattling their bones. "Step forward."

She did as she was told silently. Tentatively.

"Stand before the boy you deem weakest."

Aster shot him a look with wide, horrified eyes. They already didn't like her.

"It is necessary that someone recognises the weak link, and I'm sure you've picked up your observational skills in the last few days after one particular encounter."

She suppressed the overwhelming urge to roll her eyes with a clamp to her lip tight enough to draw blood.

"So tell me. Tell us all."

"There is no…there can be no weakest link…" she murmured, tripping over the words that rebounded off the hardwood floor and walls and avoiding eye contact with anything other than her helmet laid near her feet that she yearned to have on her head to mask her shame. "A squad can only be a strong as its…"

"Cut the bullshit," Tseng said, angular face severer than usual. "There's a weak link, and you know it, and I want you to point him out. Stand before the weakest!"

Tseng pushed her towards her peers. They eyed her, a jury onlooking the guilty defendant, until she took steps and settled in front of Sparrow. A boy with clothes that wore him and a nervous air and disposition. Kicking him while he was down, this was the boy known as Twenty-Four by a DI who couldn't even be bothered to honour him with a name.

The atmosphere outside the bubble of nervousness encasing Doe and Sparrow shifted to one of contempt.

"Why him?"

"He…he's slight and weak—"

"As are you."

She gritted her teeth. "He's always last."

"And? Keep going."

The atmosphere turned black as twenty-three recruits waited for the next attack to spill from her mouth, and Tseng folded his arms with narrow eyes, daring her to stop, to give him an excuse to smack her across the face again. She threw her head back and raked her fingers through her hair, pulling it in frustration. "Because—because he's crap, okay? He can't keep up with the rest of us. He's getting left behind."

She couldn't look at him. She stood before him and belittled him, humiliated him just as Tseng had done to her, and she couldn't even give him the decency of eye-contact. Not brave enough. She couldn't face the tears that welled in the young boy's eyes as he tried his best not to let them fall.

She absolutely could have done that more gently. Why didn't she have the foresight to do so? Why let Tseng grab her tongue? Can't retract the words now. Too late.

Tseng frowned and shrugged, much to Aster's enragement. "Apologies, Lockhart. I encourage you to continue your session."

Tifa shook her head and began to speak, "I think tensions are—"

"Continue. Sparring practice, yes? Doe, up front and centre, versus…" he deliberated for a moment, scanning from face to angry face. "Rohrbach."

"Tseng," Tifa urged, starting forward with an edge to her voice and a venomous sarcastic bite. "With all due respect to your no doubt unmatched expertise, Rohrbach and Doe are not at the same levels of competency—"

"It will be a learning experience."

"It'll be murder," she seethed.

"Perhaps you ought to exercise a greater degree of control over your unit so it doesn't degrade into a bloodbath."

Just as Aster couldn't meet Sparrow's eyes, she could hardly meet Rohrbach's, either. Though young, his long face was deeply set, highlighted with a prominent nose and an even more prominent scowl. He towered over her, cool yet grounded, exercising a considerable degree of control over his every muscle. Either tensing or holding himself back.

"Begin."

She threw up her arms to cover her face from what could have been a devastating blow and buckled under it. On the back foot from the onset. A hook to the ribs knocked her off balance, but he overcompensated for her shorter stature, leaving his side open to her clumsy roundhouse.

He hit the ground and rolled out, recovering far, far sooner than she anticipated, and slammed a foot behind her knee. She crashed to her kneecaps with a gasp as pain pierced like hot pokers shoved through her knees and up her thighs, and suddenly he was in front of her again, and he struck her jaw with a backhanded fist that sent her sprawling.

Surrexit winced and covered his face with a hand while Tifa hid hers behind a curtain of dark hair.

Her legs shook as she picked herself up off the floor. Two of the strongest attacking joints of her body out for the count, legs as good as rope, fists not to make a dent in this beast. It looked bleak. On a good day, she may have been able to skirt around him with speed and grace, but her knees screamed with every step.

She stumbled over her failing joint while dodging a jab and spun to crack her elbow into his nose with a sick thud. He recoiled, groaning, and kneed her high in the gut to distance her, connecting with the now searing pain of her bruised ribs and stomach, lifting her toes from the ground once firmly beneath her. She was out by now, or should have been. It would have been kinder if she was unconscious, anyway. He slammed his palms into her chest, looming over her as her back cracked into the floorboards, followed shortly by the crack of her skull.

She murmured incomprehensibly, slowly rolling to her side, cradling her head in her arms.

Tseng tutted, watching her body tremble in shock. It was better for her to get it out of her system now than in a critical situation. This was his justification, anyway. Grow the body accustomed to handling shock.

What felt like a bowling ball caving in her skull was in actuality just the helmet he kicked into her.

"That is why you don't take it off."

Aster squinted up at him, unable to make out the shape of his body above her from the light surrounding him, but vaguely aware of the sudden movement of six or seven cadets yanking their helmets on to avoid a grilling. Surrexit was not one of those cadets. Tseng eyed him, and he didn't falter.

Apparently, he was less than interested in the young man's subtle defiance as he looked to Tifa instead. "I believe your class is dismissible for dinner."

Tifa set him a stony look which he met coolly. Aster didn't see the exchange but felt the air turn cold. For two who spent so long holding a stare, they certainly didn't see eye-to-eye, and for everything Tseng put Aster through, including the quivering heap she found herself in now, he had never turned the wind to ice as he had just now for Miss Lockhart. He broke the stare first and left.

Tifa swept an avoidant glance over her dismembered, crumbling cadet-force. "Dismissed. Report to the mess hall. Don't want to see any of you hanging around here."

The room surged with the blood in her head as Aster sat up. She captured, amongst the blur, a foxy-brown gaze from an empty-looking soul. Sparrow. Her mouth fell open to speak, but when a hand of solidarity clasped over his shoulder—the kind guidance of a brother-in-arms—she clamped her mouth shut again and looked away. Justice had been duly served.

Her ears were ringing, but she was pretty sure she could make out their words.

"Ignore it, man, alright?"

"It's all part of the mind games."

"We know who the real weak link is."

Aster agreed with them.

"Cadets!" Tifa bellowed louder than herself. Commanding their attention, she lowered her voice solemnly. "We _all_ failed today."

Muttering followed the recruits out of the room.

But Surrexit hung around. Aster got the impression he wasn't exactly a stickler for the rules.

Tifa shrugged with a sigh. "Just wait outside."

"Ma'am," he said, and finally headed out with a salute at the temple.

Tifa crouched beside Aster, alone in an echoing room, too quiet to hear in, too loud to think in. The atmosphere rang with reverberations of bygone combat, connections, grumbling, cheering, groaning. All in silence.

"You okay? You see okay?" Tifa asked, gently waving a hand in her face, checking Aster's eyes for refocusing. "I feel like I'm always asking you if you're okay."

Aster gingerly touched the back of her head, expecting some kind of bowling-ball shaped dent. "What…was that…?"

Tifa dropped her hands on her knees and shook her head. "It's a dysfunctional tactic employed frequently in the training of special forces. Not, can I just say, infantry cadets in their first stage," she seethed, and Aster noticed just how red the girl's eyes were, like sunlight shining through wine. "He's singling you out—"

"—Everything is a test, Tifa…"

The instructor stopped abruptly, perhaps some of the wind sucked from her sails. An overstretched balloon given the reprieve of deflation, an overwound tape given the respite of slack.

"I've just got to keep passing," she murmured, patting her scalp for blood. Nonesuch came. "Tifa…how was that Rohrbach guy recovering so quickly? How was he…so good?"

"Well, first of all, he's built like a brick outhouse, you know? He is a strong candidate, gunning for SOLDIER and gunning hard, it's gotta be said. He is objectively the strongest candidate in this would-be squad." She shrugged, which almost compromised her precarious balance. "He learns exceptionally quickly and takes training as second-nature. Junon born and raised—likely of military background."

Aster nodded slowly. "So, it's built in him, then…"

"Not necessarily. He's had more training than you." Tifa shook her head. "I should apologise. Tseng told you I would offer you additional training and I haven't done so yet. I've no class on Saturdays. Come and meet me in my bar in the slums tomorrow afternoon when you finish for the day. We'll go over the basics you missed."

* * *

Dinner was between seventeen hundred and seventeen-thirty hours only for cadets in basic training. Three months would see their meal consumed then or not at all. And yet, fifteen minutes after class kick out, Surrexit still stood waiting for her.

"Thought you were gonna be in there forever, mate. The DI's gonna tear me a new one for hanging around unaccompanied. Help me sneak into mess, yeah?" He said casually, throwing his arms behind his head as if his backside wasn't at stake.

"I didn't ask you to wait," she grumbled, walking, or rather, limping onward.

He shrugged. "I'd rather not travel with a pack of wolves."

"Wimp."

"I prefer noble."

She snorted half-heartedly and pushed through the double doors. He offered his arm when she struggled through on weak knees, but she waved him off.

"Sit down before you get screamed at. I'll get your food."

The dinner hall was huge. The tables that stretched alongside one another in uniform lines were large enough to hold twenty to thirty people, depending, with blue stools attached to them. A mixture of primarily strait-laced, green and nervous cadets, with a helping of more relaxed, established infantrymen and even peppered with a few SOLDIER Thirds distinguished by their pale blue uniforms and throaty laughs, who apparently couldn't be bothered to cook for themselves with the kitchens in their company-owned apartments. Only the cadets were being watched over by hawks and swirling vultures in red garb, picking their carcasses at every wrong turn or wrong word spoken.

The vultures that watched Aster, though, were dressed in white shirts and blue combat pants, same as she.

With two pairs of eyes on her at any given time, she dropped Surrexit's platter in front of him with a rattle and slumped into the seat across from him. The cadet to her right physically turned his back to her. Didn't know his name. Didn't look like he'd be introducing himself, either.

In fact, no one made direct eye contact with her for the rest of dinner, except Surrexit, and it was only upon the return to the barracks that eyes were laid upon her again. Twenty-three pairs of eyes.

The door slid open to the blaring alarm of the sergeant's voice. Failed barracks inspection. Standards had not been met. Standards _needed_ to be met to prevent material carnage.

Which was exactly what the barracks had been exposed to. Twenty-four beds had been stripped of bedding and sheets and mattresses, all of which lay strewn across the room, thrown haphazardly amongst clothing and boots and personal possessions of photographs and significant jewellery like a hurricane had torn the furnishing to shreds. Bedside tables lay tipped and cabinets hung open. Anything not fixed was moved. The room looked like an old, abandoned village, pillaged and plundered, with only rot and empty vessels left for the poor residents.

"Guilt lies with you," the drill sergeant barked at the foot of Aster's bed.

"Yes, sir," she called meekly, stood to attention.

"Do you know why, cadet?"

She shuffled uncomfortably as he drew closer. "No, sir."

"Failure to upkeep barracks! Just got damn Barnhill over there to learn to clean his boots, and now we've got you who can't make a goddamn bed!"

"And _you_!" He yelled, sweeping an arm across the room. "You're gonna spend your goddamned free time sorting out this shit out as a result!"

There were never fewer than ten pairs of eyes running daggers through her chest at any one time.

Yet she couldn't care. Selfish, perhaps, but the only thing she could think about was the parcel of sodden clothing that had been hidden in her cabinet. She practically dove into the heap of effects nearest to her bed, desperately rummaging for her things. Relief doused her in its beautifully cooling embrace as she found the bundle, still together as far as she could tell. She squeezed it, checking for the switchblade buried within, glad to find it safe. She shoved it straight back in her cabinet and wiped her face free of tension before returning to the squad and the enormous piles of clothing and bedding.

She watched a boy with small eyes and a square jaw lunge into the pile almost as desperately as she had, quickly stashing away the items he'd grabbed. Photographs? Flyers? When his eyes ran through hers she avoided them and stared back into the pile before her, sorting through uniforms by size.

Then a tall, bald man in a suit barged in, ordering salutes from sergeant and cadet alike. When he requested Aster Doe's presence on behalf of Tseng of the Turks, effectively excusing her from the punishment she had rightly deserved and dumping it on the squad instead, she fully commanded twenty-three pairs of glaring eyes.

She had spent two weeks in confinement, yet the real isolation began upon release.


	5. Moonlighter

**A/N: So, FFVII came out on Switch yesterday! Good stuff. Bought it instantly, obviously, even though I already have two copies of the PS1 game, and have it downloaded on PSP, PS3, PS4 and Steam, but still. Looking forward to playing but I am MAJOR busy. I'm seriously so busy that this chapter was almost late, even though I already had the whole damn thing written (though I did decide to change some stuff up to correspond with later events).**

**Actually, I cut so much out of this chapter that I am physically aching. I'm trying to keep the chapters to, you know…reasonable lengths? And this one was just TOO long. So I took a deep breath and cut a lot of crap and hopefully…this is fine :) Kill your darlings, as they say T_T I did it…*sniffs* does that make me a better writer…?**

27th Mar '19

* * *

**Chapter 5: Moonlighter**

The tall, bald man in a suit—that's Rude—had dragged Aster to Tseng, who initiated a three-hour long Advanced Driving introduction and afterwards, she was brought back to his office where he pulled some kind of large manual from a drawer. He dropped it on the desk with a bang.

"You need to learn this."

"What, _all_ of it?" she asked in disbelief, flicking through the four-hundred or so pages of the textbook. It was full of images, or more like illustrations, of monsters scrawled across the paper and reams of information to accompany them. It was some kind of compendium of monsters hailing from the western-most continent. Wutai. The country with which they were at war. Seemed appropriate.

When Tseng nodded, Aster knocked the worn-leather binding with her knuckles. It was surprisingly solid. "The hell is this…?" she said, under the false impression he wouldn't hear. "School?"

"_Knowledge_," he said, "that might one day save your life."

She whimpered to herself. "I was terrible at school."

"I know." A faint smirk accompanied him as he left the room. "I saw your grades."

It was nearly midnight when Aster made it back to the barracks and it had been to her greatest relief that lights out had been two hours prior. The others, even if they weren't already asleep, were required to be in bed and not permitted to roam as she was. Another ideal condition for growing contempt.

The room was spotless. She bit her lip.

She never did have to face the other cadets in the aftermath of the night before. Maybe she was glad in a cowardly kind of way, or maybe she'd have rather ripped the bandaid off and dealt with the immediate fallout. It didn't matter anyway since she spent the morning in Tseng's direct care, rising before the sun with a blow to the gut and then, in the Saturday afternoon downtime, Aster was dismissed only to continue with extra training. Make that _extra_ extra training. She was losing track of what she was doing as fast as she was losing sleep.

Finding the Sector One Upper Plate station had been easy—it was right beside its governing Mako reactor. Aster had taken the steps down to the platform two at a time, sinking closer toward the plate along with them. She could almost smell the slums beneath her from beyond the railway tracks, distinctly metallic, to the point it could almost be tasted on her tongue. But then again, it could very well have been blood for all the beatings she had been taking recently.

The old train jostled over every notch on the wearied rails. "_Last stop Sector Seven, Train Graveyard. Expected time of arrival is 15:23 pm, Midgar Standard Time._"

Handles swung lazily above her head. She shared the carriage with a few others but the purple and blue swelling of her jaw from yesterday's meeting with Rohrbach's steely fist went thoroughly unnoticed. Either the sight was common beneath the plate, or no one gave a damn. Aster didn't know which was worse.

The carriage slowly deserted stop by stop save for a man in a tattered green shirt that rested over his bony ribs and a cowboy hat tilted over his face. His home was wherever the rails would take him; the end of the line. Aster considered this for a short moment before the end of the line was indeed met and the doors flung open.

The air was different here. It swarmed her the moment she set foot to the platform, wrapping every inch of exposed skin like a warm, rotten rag. It felt like filth. She shuddered, but not from cold.

No, the slums weren't cold at all, they were stifling. Heat from the giant lights hanging from the underside of the plate cooked all within the metal walls. Sunlight would not reach, and rain would not fall. The wind would not blow to lift the pressure.

Somewhere deep in the hollow of her cheek, she felt eyes. Glancing to her right, a man in a red uniform as stiff as wooden cladding—similar to that of the infantry captains and drill sergeants— met her with a lacking stare. He was a shadow of a man, a shell, dominant in the jaw and waning in the cheek and socket. War-torn.

He shook his head. The movement was entirely detached from the rest of his body like a doll, his neck but a ball in a chamber. "I'm with the Shinra only as far as this uniform and working their train if you're one of those Shinra-haters."

Aster opened her mouth to speak, but upon realising there was nothing to say, merely closed it and shook her head.

The horizon of the slums was rutted and knotted; grey and black and brown. Impressive in breadth, but nothing like the spectacle that was the city above. Tin roofs jutted and pointed up towards the plate, and some were flat and lost and probably caved in.

Aster chewed at her raw inner lip then looked back at the train man. "Can you tell me how to get to Seventh Heaven?"

His arm like a steel pipe with an extension of a baton pointed into the distance towards a chainlink fence. "Follow the road to the pillar and head directly into the village. Not far. Can't miss it."

She muttered her thanks and took the steps down to the cobbles. The roads of the slums were paved as far as the stones and steel that had been trampled into the hard ground through the passing of people over many years. In many ways, these towns were created by their inhabitants.

Out of the dirt beyond rose a chain fence that cordoned off a spiralling, clunky structure that stapled itself to what was unmistakably the pillar. It stretched tens of feet back and across, a concrete monolith that grew from the ground. Stood beneath the looming column, Aster craned her neck back to search the inky shadows above the lights for the point where the pillar and plate met, but her body stumbled back without balance, hindered by disorientation.

The plate was up there, the lid on the slums kept lifted by the pillar. The pillar held up the citizens chance for breath.

* * *

Sector Seven was made up less of brick and building and more of rust and rotted wood. Broken supports lay strewn across the dusty ground in mocking irony. Even the neon green lights that hung over the sturdiest building in the vicinity flickered lazily, dulling and brightening the same patches of the ground green like growing grass, then sucking the life and hope away once again.

Wooden stairs thumped and ached beneath a tangle of limbs as a body rolled over each splintering edge. At the top of the steps, a flow of dark hair twisted back into the light of the building like a gymnasts ribbon jerking, before poorly fitted saloon doors met close enough to be called closed.

The intoxicated man might have looked slightly less ridiculous, writhing there on the ground, if the tiny ponytail at the back of his otherwise bald head hadn't looked glued on, and maybe Aster would have helped him up if she believed he wouldn't fall straight back down again.

"Was'n…even done with my drink…! Did'n even pay my bill…!"

That building must be the bar. Aster folded her arms. "I'm gonna take a guess that you didn't need that last one."

She nudged his arm out of the way with her boot when his reply was lost to an alcoholic gurgle in the back of his throat. In the same way that no one rushed to care for Aster's bruising face, no one offered the man any aid. Maybe because it was self-inflicted, his state. And as for Aster, well, perhaps they thought she'd deserved it, for whatever she must have done. She probably did.

The saloon doors gave to a light touch of her fingertips. A girl by the bar pulled her hands free of leather gloves, old and worn, and only turned to look when the doors slapped back together.

Aster couldn't help but smirk, jutting her thumb over her shoulder. "Did you just kick that drunk guy's ass?"

Tifa crushed the gloves in the palm of her hand and met her smile. "I'm closing until we open again this evening, anyway. How are your injuries from yesterday? What hurts?"

"My pride."

The dark-haired girl laughed and tucked the gloves into her skirt. "Other than that."

"Nothing really," Aster said with a shrug, distinctly brushing her off.

"Your face is still a bit swollen. Sit," Tifa said, pulling out a green barstool and hurrying toward the kitchen. Aster couldn't quite see the kitchen from the bar—it was hidden away behind—but she returned quickly with a bowl and some kind of first aid kit.

"I have to apologise for failing to intervene yesterday. You should never have been put into that position. Cadets aren't asked to fight each other until much later in basic training," she gushed, words spilling out much like the faucet under the bar as she filled the bowl. "What happened yesterday encouraged no form of learning and occupied no skill or finesse or technique. It was nothing more than a couple of inexperienced students wailing on each other until something hurt."

"It's not your fault. Tseng doesn't answer to anybody."

Tifa's eyes gleamed with a touch of amusement. "Don't have to tell me that."

The water slopped up the side of the bowl and splattered the wooden counter. Tifa unloaded the first aid kit in a perfect line, her head down, hair covering her face. It looked like she might be about to perform some kind of countertop surgery.

Aster's eyebrows shot up. "Geez, Tifa, is this an infirmary?"

She smiled to herself and dipped some cotton wool in the water before dabbing it against Aster's jaw. "Sometimes."

If she hadn't believed her, she might have laughed. "What kind of place is the slums?"

Tifa set the cotton down and stared into the grain of the wooden bar for a moment. Suddenly activating an instant ice pack was taking her whole concentration.

"I mean," Aster said carefully, "it just doesn't seem very friendly. I wondered if that was why…"

She trailed off without the words to express the feeling, but her eyes pulled to the first aid kit—that was way less 'first' than 'ready for anything'—and she didn't need to ask the question verbally.

Tifa blew a strand of hair from her face in a sigh. "You're right, it's not the friendliest. And it's not much, I suppose," she said. Placing her words as gently and she pressed the icepack to Aster's cheek. "But to the slum-dwellers it's everything."

"What about you?" Aster asked. "Are the slums everything to you?"

Tifa hesitated then shook her head. "No. But the people are."

"And thus did open the Seventh Heaven Infirmary," she said in a lofty voice. "That it?"

"In a roundabout way. Although," she said with a grin, sweeping her arm in front of the collection of spirits and wines behind the bar, "our methods are questionable."

Aster's smile was smushed by the ice pack, but it still spread to her eyes. "I don't know what you're talking about. Nothing questionable about drowning your issues and injuries in ethanol and various juices."

Tifa may have been about to explain that there might just be, in fact, a small problem surrounding alcohol dependency in the community and that, _perhaps_, it was indeed questionable to make money out of its dependants, but the door flew open with a crack.

"Tifa!" barked a booming voice. "The mission was a success!"

Wine red rippled in Tifa's impossibly wide eyes, and it rippled in the bottles and half-empty glasses too, all disturbed by the bar stool slamming back into the bar as Tifa jumped to her feet, and quite possibly quaking at the sight of the gatling gun that threw open the door.

"Barret!"

"Y-you!"

It took a few moments for Aster to register that the floating gatling gun wasn't talking or floating at all but was rather attached to a man's arm, a swell of thick and worked muscle tucked tightly beneath a casing of gunmetal. It took her longer to realise he was pointing it at her.

But he mustn't have been, because Aster had never seen this man in her life, and in the next moment, Tifa was starting towards him with her hands in the air saying _calm down_ and _let me explain_. Aster decided Tifa must have done something to piss off the man of half armament. As far as Aster saw it, it probably didn't take much.

"Barret, this is Aster Doe," Tifa said, tucking her hair behind her ear. "She was recently accepted as a Turk cadet and she's one of my students. I told Tseng I'd catch her up 'cause she's behind."

"Goddess only knows we all need to stay on his good side," she tagged on, muttering under her breath.

Barret's eyes flicked onto Aster's for one beat of his eyelids before settling on Tifa's once more.

The barmaid smiled. "I'm training her, Barret. Who knows where she might end up, huh?"

"On the right damn track, you oughta hope."

"Aster," Tifa said with a roll of her eyes, "Barret is a conservationist."

She raised an eyebrow. "Really? In Midgar? Not a lot to conserve here, huh?"

"And what'd you know?" he grunted. "You ain't from here."

Tifa shook her head and shot a look at Barret that Aster couldn't see. "He's working on finding a new source of energy. He scours the planet for oil fields and otherwise alternatives to Mako."

"An alternative to Mako? That's…"

"Don't say it's stupid!" Barret roared. He raised his gun-arm and swiped it through the air dramatically. Fly-swatting, perhaps, but Aster couldn't help but be extremely glad she wasn't in its path. It must have been like a wrecking ball. His arms were huge, his muscles corded and bulging beneath thick, dark skin. It was no wonder why, lugging that thing around all day.

She shook her head meeker than she had intended and tried again. "I wasn't going to say it was stupid. I was just going to say it sounds…ambitious. You don't hear of many people searching for alternatives."

"No, and that's a damn shame," Barret said.

"We're all so dependent on Mako, aren't we?" she said. "What happens if it all runs out?"

A sound, half-grunt and half-snort accompanied Barret's half-smile. "Don't even wanna think about it—"

Tifa interjected. "That's why Barret does what he does. You should keep that to yourself, though. You know, just in case."

"Oh, yeah, I totally get that," Aster spluttered, nodding, too eager to prove her trustworthiness. "I guess a lot of people would disagree. No worries there, Barret. Nice to meet you."

Barret scratched his temple with one of six barrels on his gatling gun. "Don't need no pleasantries. Jus' keep your word."

"Um. Right. I get that."

Tifa drew her heel along the divide between two floorboards and tucked it behind her other foot. "You said the mission was successful. Find anything new?"

"Uh, nothin' new, no. But we're in a good place now to put a real plan into action. I'm tellin' you, Tifa, good things are gonna start happenin' around here."

She smiled. "We'll talk later, Barret. Right now, Aster and I have training to do."

Barret muttered to himself as he backed out of the bar. "Kicked outta my own goddamn…"

Tifa sighed with her hands on her hips. "Well. Sorry about him." She laughed. "He's a good man, really."

* * *

Training near enough destroyed Aster. Going over all the basics she missed, and breakfalls, imperative for preventing injury when hitting the ground and maintaining the momentum of a fistfight—or any fight or scenario that you might find yourself grounded in. Given that it was a one-on-one session, Tifa was able to intensify the curriculum. A few hours rolled by and Aster was panting, sprawled out across a mat in the centre of the bar.

"So, what are your plans for the rest of the day?" Tifa asked casually as if she hadn't just undergone a pretty intense training session.

"I…wait…" Aster sat bolt upright. "I have _nothing _to do…"

The cadets had part of Saturday evenings off and Sunday was Rest Day. For Aster, every day was a work day, but Tseng gave her Saturday evenings off. Her jaw fell open and stayed there, frozen, for the first time since she got here at a loss. A loss of a goal. Nothing to do, or work towards.

"You're welcome to hang out here this evening if you feel like it. Might even get you a free drink."

Aster smiled slowly, nurturing an idea. "Well, what if I help out tonight? To say thank you?"

Tifa considered this rather speedily. "Okay, but tips are yours and you use them to buy yourself some clothes that aren't military combat clothes, deal?"

"How could I turn that down?" the younger girl exclaimed. "Do you mind if I take a shower first? I'm sick of Shinra-standard military soap; I shouldn't smell like a teenage boy, Tifa! I just shouldn't!"

Her trainer-come-friend laughed. "I actively encourage you to go do so."

When Aster returned to the bar she wore clothes that Tifa generously lent her. Thick leggings and a long t-shirt—that was slightly too large for Aster due to her being relatively flat-chested—all black. Aster's feet were a bit bigger than Tifa's, but eventually, they found some old, comfy sneakers that fit. She approached the bar and tied a stiff apron around her waist, then took the time waiting for Tifa to string her bracelet back together. Five white beads spelt her name, and most of the rest were plain assorted colours.

Tifa appeared, also dressed in a change of clothes, as Aster slipped it over her hand. She nodded towards the fixed bracelet. "Seems important to you."

Her voice startled Aster from her bubble. She rubbed the beads against her skin. Finally, her wrist didn't feel so exposed anymore. "I've just had it since I was small. I've had to remake it several times. Add beads. Get longer string."

She seemed to be rambling as she trailed off. Tifa fastened her own apron. "You look more refreshed than I think I've known you to look since meeting you."

Aster snorted. "You mean less beat up? Thanks to the clothes and makeup you lent me."

Their complexions were dissimilar as far as Aster being as deathly pale as the snowy mountains she came from, but with some combination between a pale concealer and foundation, she matched a colour adequately enough to cover the bruising. It took far more time than she had ever spent on applying makeup before, but she figured she had better not look half dead in front of Tifa's customers. With this in mind, she gave the rest of her features a subtle dusting, too. And the overall effect was, well, a girl who didn't look quite as destroyed as usual. No more and no less.

"The swelling's gone down a lot, too," Tifa said, inspecting the girl's jawline. "So. You ever tended bar before?"

"I've…dabbled," she said, pulling a face. "I've done a lot of odd jobs for a lot of odd people."

Tifa raised her eyebrow with a smile. "Is this one of those times?"

She laughed. Heartily. "Didn't mean that! But, hey, depending on how the evening goes, it could reduce to that."

"Hmm, are you insulting me or my customers?"

"Maybe a little of both," Aster said, with her tongue in her cheek.

* * *

The bar was full and it was getting late. The ambience of chatter and clinking glasses, scuffing of barstool feet, boots and laughter was a warming and familiar feeling for Aster. It reminded her of frigid nights in the balmy local back home, where a feast would be held any time she and her band of exterminators brought home a giant prize to share with the villagers and children. The spoils were great, the training beneficial, but nothing was quite as rewarding as watching the steam rise off freshly cooked meat on a skewer in the hand of a child playing in the snow, knowing you provided unity for your townspeople.

It certainly wasn't snowing outside this bar, being a sheer impossibility owing to the city held high over their heads, but this was the closest Aster had felt to home in weeks. She smiled. "I could spend a lot of time here."

A timer went off in the kitchen. "Hey," Tifa said, swarmed by a large order and a few customers leaning over the counter, getting way too into her personal space. She took a moment to push one guy back into his seat. "Do you mind grabbing the fries out of the oven? They're for my friend on the table by the door."

Aster threw a cloth over her shoulder and nodded. "No problem."

She backed into the kitchen and took out the tray, wincing when the heat seeped through the cloth that covered her hands and transferred the fries into a bowl before heading through the crowd, trying not to drop them everywhere as people dancing jostled into her. She reached the table and set the bowl down. "I've got fries from Tifa. Be careful, I burnt my _all_ my fingers," she said with a grin.

"Thanks," said a young man with relatively long, black hair. When he looked up at her and flashed a white smile, her chest tightened. His eyes were so bright, a blue like a tropical ocean with an inviting depth.

Her mouth fell open just slightly and she clamped it shut. _Shit_. Zack Fair, one of the First Class SOLDIER members overseeing her wave of recruits. The man who escorted her to the infirmary on her first official day of training—she almost hadn't recognised him without his uniform on.

"You're welcome," she choked out, hoping the music would drown out her pathetic whimpering. She wiped her palms across her apron and clutched it at her sides and smiled, thanking every god or goddess she could think the name of that she had worn her helmet throughout their entire first encounter. She didn't need anyone recognising her here, somewhere she finally felt she could relax out of Shinra's reach.

She flinched under the sound of smashing glass. A man a table behind her ripped a bottle of wine by the neck up and into the underside of the table, the sound of splintering glass pattering against the floor audible only for the fact she was listening for it. He lifted the bottle above his head and launched for a fellow, equally rowdy patron.

Aster's eyes widened as she snatched his wrist and dug her thumbnail into his skin. With a yelp, he released his tight grip over the bottleneck enough for her to snatch it from him. Suddenly she saw herself as Tseng, snatching her own wrist when she attacked him with her switchblade. She shook her head vigorously and the daydream faded away.

"_Out_," she snarled, pointing to the door.

The man, with a bulbous nose and a blotchy face, turned to her, loomed over her. The stench of too much beer and roasted peanuts carried from his bared teeth to her nostrils and earned the scrunching of her nose. Then, she felt warmth across her shoulder blades as someone came up behind her.

Zack's voice said firmly, "You heard her."

The man looked up and over her shoulder and apparently thought better of starting on her, before shoving through the bar doors. Aster watched him storm off and turned to face Zack's bright blue eyes. She could still feel the warmth of his body. Hoping the low light masked the reddening of her cheeks, she took half a step back. "Thanks."

"Hey, it was all you," he said with a shrug. "I was just moral support."

She cocked an eyebrow up at him. "The threatening hired muscle, right?"

"I thought that was your part." A smile grew across his face when she laughed. "My name's Zack."

"Aster," she said and swallowed back the thought that it was weird—weird that he'd already introduced himself to her once before, with his surname, not his fore, and that it was rather like meeting a different person; a version of himself not affiliated with Shinra. "Nice to meet you."

She ducked her head and smiled before retrieving a broom and dustpan to sweep up the broken glass that crunched beneath their feet. Thankfully the wine bottle had been empty. When finished, she leaned against the broom handle turned to find Zack again, leaning against the wall by his table, laughing at something one of his friends had done or said. He must have felt her eyes on him because he met them straight back.

She ground her teeth together until her jaw pulsed as she summoned some boundless courage. Courage like the flame of a matchstick, bright but short-lived. It was all ever she needed. She narrowed her eyes and smiled. "Can I get you a drink? Hired muscle needs paying, right?"

She took his grin as a response and headed back to the bar, dumping the glass into the trash and wiping her shaking hands down on her apron again to steady them. It didn't work.

Tifa thanked her as she passed behind her, then raised a hand in greeting to Zack who had come up to the bar. "Oh hey, Zack."

"Hey, Teef. You good?"

"Great," she said with a charming smile, although Tifa was pretty charming in general. It was in how she held her composed self. "Aster, this is a good friend of mine—"

"—Oh, we already met," he said, and an incredibly mischievous smirk overcame his features. "She's buying me a drink."

Tifa's face was priceless as she looked at Zack accusatorially. _Already?_ The look said, but Aster chose not to meet it. Instead, she reached into one of the fridges and grabbed the same kind of beer she'd seen in his hand at his table, and pretended she wasn't trembling underneath her bravado. Condensation ran over her fingers as she passed the bottle to him, and she wondered if his fingers brushing hers was an accident. She cleared her throat and smiled guiltily at Tifa with half a shrug.

Zack leaned his corded forearms against the cool, polished bar. She did try not to stare at his impressively built muscles, but she _could_ have tried harder. She'd always been a sucker for a decent pair of arms. In less than a question and more of a statement, he said, "You're not from around here."

She rummaged in the pouch of her apron for a couple of gil and dropped it into the cash tray beneath the bar, hoping her cheeks weren't as red as they felt. "I'm not," she said. "How'd you know?"

"Your eyes."

"My eyes?" she asked bemusedly, setting both hands down firmly on the counter. Her pastel shade of blue very literally paled in comparison with his downright luminous SOLDIER eyes. They were highlighted in all the right places by the Mako enhancements that made him what he was.

"Yeah. When people live in Midgar so long, the pollution of Mako in the air, it kinda masks their eyes." He shrugged. "It's not really something normal people would notice."

Normal people? She assumed he meant non-SOLDIER. He continued somewhat hastily, "I don't see that in your eyes. They're perfectly clear. Like icicles!"

"Funny you should say that," she hinted with a smile, turning the beads of her bracelet to occupy her shaking fingers. She mentally scolded herself. Get a grip. "Icicle Inn. And your wonderful self?"

"Me? I'm from Gongaga," he said with a proud grin.

She pressed a finger over her lip suddenly. A smack of realisation and a large portion of guilt was served before her. She was here, enjoying herself. Free, laughing, conversing, while her teammates, as distant as they were, were in bed. Did they think about her? Did they care? If they knew where she was right now, yes, they very much would have cared. Another thing to keep to herself.

And worse came the reminder that the evening could not last forever, time could not freeze to this moment, and no sooner than her head hit the pillow that evening the suffocating life of a cadet would consume her again.

"Zack!"

He twisted his body to scan through the surprisingly dense crowd of people to find a young man about his age, early twenties, with messy brown hair.

"Alright," he called back, standing up. He leaned into the counter to speak into her ear over the growing music and noise of the group that called him. "Gotta go—you here often?"

Her breath caught in her throat but she covered for herself by pulling back with a wide grin. "Every Saturday!"

"Great." He smiled slowly. "I'll see you Saturday."

She held that smile for as long as it took him to turn and leave the building, at which exact moment she collapsed into the mother-of-all-facepalms against the counter.

"You work here every Saturday?" Tifa said, trying not to laugh, apparently having been watching likely most of their encounter. And she was getting way too much enjoyment out of this.

Aster's words came muffled through her hands. "I don't know why I said that."

"Well, I could use the extra help!"

She straightened her back and smiled. "And I could use the extra training."

Tifa grinned. "I'll make you wish you never said it."


	6. Unhinged

**A/N: Hello, everyone! I originally tried to make this chapter shorter and ended up literally doubling it—although in my defence I merged two chapters together here. I haven't had any time to do any additional writing for a few weeks now, so I'm glad I've got the next twenty chapters all ready for you o_o I can't wait until I have chance to relax a bit!**

**So, what do you guys thinks so far? I'd love to hear from you all, please drop a line! Basically there's a lot of groundwork going on, and a lot of it gets referred to again later with more information so don't worry too much if there are lots of unexplained things happening ^_^ Everything is relevant, honest o_o Have a great day!**

3rd Apr '19

* * *

**Chapter 6: Unhinged**

For the first time, Tseng hadn't ordered Aster up before the standard cadets. Standard was not meant as an insult. It had been almost two weeks since she had been let out of the cells, and already she would have given an arm or leg to be considered a 'normal' cadet.

At exactly five-thirty—to the second—the drill instructor unnamed to Aster yelled his way into the barracks, his voice rattling the metal cabinets and vibrating the skinny steel legs of the beds. She very quickly lived to regret not waking sooner, not to miss the perpetually angry sergeant screaming his face off until his skin matched the colour of his cap, but rather to enjoy the privacy of solitude for a shower. Privacy that the cadets were not granted.

Knowing she was the only one who could get away with it, she waited in a toilet cubicle until the shower stalls were empty and showered alone. When she returned to the bedchamber dried and clothed, the full squadron stood at attention in their matching white t-shirts and blue combat pants at the ends of their pristinely made beds. She strode past with her head held as high as she dared to hold it, masking her confusion—she was catching up on drill these days, but she had no idea what was going on here.

To some of the cadets, her nose was too high in the air; she looked haughty. "Thought you'd join us plebeians today then, princess?"

Quiet snickers rippled through the room.

Aster yanked her bedsheets taut and stared at the fabric in her white knuckle grip until the snickers died into smirks. Her eyes snapped up to the sneering cadet with a big mouth and rubbery cheeks midway up the row of beds on the other side. He was only slightly taller than her but made up for it in breadth. Probably her age, maybe older—hard to tell through the veil of his helmet. His name was Newberry.

"About time you started pulling your damn weight around here," he jeered.

The drill sergeant snatched her opportunity to jab back as he burst into the room. "Get your asses up to the courtyard, _now._ Two mile run!"

"Sir," they yapped in unison. Dogs to their master.

It only occurred to her then, whilst marching out to the courtyard in formation, that this performance was staged every morning. Each day they fixed up the barracks until they were spotless and awaited the appearance of the DI from the ends of their beds. While she was under Turks permission to near enough roam as she pleased, the others weren't allowed out of sight of someone important. Probably hadn't felt freedom in weeks.

Not that Aster had had a whole lot on that front either, but at least she could shower by herself.

* * *

The lump of ground beef on Aster's tray at lunch was dry and tasted like soil, and it was even worse when paired with the burning smell of chlorine in her nostrils. Honestly, the squares of prison loaf they supplied her with in her cell had been better than this—and she wouldn't say that lightly. Surrexit didn't look half as bothered, shovelling the dirt-like substance in his mouth by the forkful. While talking. And laughing.

He smacked his chest to dislodge the mince caught in his windpipe. "Who knew you were so bad at swimming?"

Aster stabbed her fork into her food and scowled. "I can swim enough to save my life."

"Evidently not."

"Not with a thirty-pound bergen on!" she cried out at him. "In real life, I'd've totally ditched that shit."

He snorted. "I better remember not to drown near you then—you'd leave me."

"I'll throw you a life jacket," she said with a grin, scraping mashed potato from her spoon with her teeth.

He pointed at her, watching her eyes through the tongs of his fork. "Did you finish last?"

"It wasn't a race!"

"Still."

She cast a sidelong glance down the cafeteria table. No one was looking, no one was listening—the room was getting noisier these days. The newest recruits were getting used to how things worked around here and weren't quite as scared of their own shadows as they had been on day one.

She chewed her lip. "…Define last."

"Okay. _Last_."

Sighing dramatically, she threw her spoon down with a clatter and clasped her fingers together. "I like to look at it as most improvable."

He snorted again, and Aster flinched as though expecting an eruption of half-chewed, ground beef dirt to fly all over her. He gave her a look. It was just one time! "Whatever, mate. Not had much experience in the water, I take it."

"Swimming? Please, I'm from Icicle Inn. You wanna go swim in liquid ice?" she scoffed, scooping a trowel of beef from her tray and dumping it on his. Before he could say thanks, she took half of his potatoes.

He pointed at his heavenly, buttery potatoes on her tray. "Okay, first of all, _not_ an even trade—I want your juice. Second of all, liquid ice is literally regular water. Your move."

"Alright—pedantic—but alright." She deliberated before sliding her glass of orange juice across the table like a pawn on a chess board and took his bottled water. "But hypothermia? Not worth it."

"What, they don't do indoor swimming pools up north?"

"They do…just…nowhere I frequent," she mumbled, finishing up her stolen goods. She rolled her eyes. "Where're you from then? All this going on about swimming. Mideel? Banora?"

He sure _sounded _like he was from the warm southern continent. His voice held a carefree, lazy, holiday-town kind of drawl.

"Rocket Town," he said, puffing out his chest and grinning proudly.

"Rocket Town isn't watery!"

"Au contraire, _indoor pools_," he said with a short, mocking bow.

Aster pushed his head into his tray just enough to coat his nose in mince. "_Dumbass_."

Somewhere between the tears of mirth in her eyes and fits of laughter at the sight of Surrexit blowing and spluttering food from the innards of his nostrils, a figure came into Aster's view. Entering from the double doors at the far wall was a small pool of men with neat, beautifully held black uniforms. Among them, a set of bobbing black spikes set himself apart from the others.

"_Shit!"_ Aster hurled herself under the table, but not before smacking her own nose into her own food with a loud clatter. "OW."

"Instant karma—"

"Shut _up_, Rex!" she hissed, from dangerously close to his thighs.

The high-ranking members of SOLDIER dispersed to various different tables, one straight for theirs. She watched black boots draw near her, to the foot of the table. Her fingers trembled; she pulled them to her mouth.

"Recruits!"

Aster's breath caught in her throat, thick like smoke. It was Zack but…his voice sounded so different. The playful, relaxed tone he had taken just a few nights ago was nowhere to be found in this hardened, authoritative timbre. She couldn't see the faces of her fellow cadets, just Surrexit's legs and Zack's feet, table legs and stools, but she could tell from the shakier resonance of their salutations that they regarded this man with a greater degree of respect than most. She did, too.

"Hey, now," he said, voice dropping to a more familiar tone. "Aren't there supposed to be twenty-four of you?"

"Sir, we've got one—"

Aster stabbed her fork deep into Rex's thigh.

"—_ah_, NOT HERE, SIR."

Zack stifled a laugh. "At ease, kid."

Rex booted Aster hard in the hip under the table and knocked her balance. She bit back a growl and shoved him in the knee. Like cat and dog.

There was a moment of silence, and Aster remembered her tray left roughly above her head. She chewed her lip, it was fairly obvious _someone_ had been there. Newberry saved the day—in a backwards fashion—but his voice dripped of distaste. Disgust, even. "Obviously thinks she has better things to do, sir."

Aster seethed, imagining herself scuttling through booted legs and stabbing him in the thigh, too.

"Oh—Doe, the Turk cadet," Zack said.

She squeezed her eyes shut as though that might make her disappear for real. She prayed to any and all higher powers that may or may not exist that he wouldn't draw a conclusion that met Doe the Turk cadet with Aster the barmaid.

"Uh, that the chick?"

One or two cadets murmured in response but Rex didn't dare for fear of what she might stab next.

"Not a problem," Zack said, and Aster heard what sounded like the scratching of a ballpoint pen against a clipboard. "Alright. Grab your kit and I'll be waiting at exactly seventeen forty-five, you got that?"

When he stepped back, Aster sank further into the shadows with her fingernails dug into Rex's knee for balance. She watched him hook his gloved thumbs into his belt loops. "See you in twenty."

She watched him leave and only realised she'd been holding her breath when she blew a deep sigh. She pulled herself back into her chair, all elbows, certain that if she didn't make eye contact, no one would notice she just slithered out from beneath a table.

Of course, Rex did. "The hell was that?!"

She dabbed her nose with her fingertips, checking for blood from her throbbing face and finding only mashed potato and minced beef. "Honestly, I couldn't even tell you."

"Huh? Some kinda secret?"

"No, I panicked," she mumbled, untangling her limbs from around the cafeteria stool and avoiding his confused stare. "I gotta go get my helmet."

"Wait—were you _hiding_ from him?" Rex asked with his head cocked in confusion, reaching for her hand to stop her leaving, but her fingers whispered out of his grip and she was gone.

* * *

Yanking the cool metal of her helmet over her ears back in the barracks felt like relief. She swore she'd never take it off again; it provided her with a literal mask to survive under in Shinra. Protection, however small. Protection of her identity—or the identity of the girl named Aster Doe that once lived in Icicle Inn, anyway. She wasn't sure she and her were the same person anymore.

When seventeen forty-five ticked over and the door opened to twenty-four cadets stood ready at the ends of their beds at attention, Commander Fair—indeed, commander of anywhere between a few and several hundred troops at any given time—stepped into the room.

Youngest of his class. He stood rigid, surveying them with a hint of a smile. The thick leather belt that sat over his abdomen perfectly visible—the insignia of SOLDIER. Men stared in adoration. So they should, he wore it proudly.

"Cadets," he said, without the strain of a drill sergeant. Didn't need to scream to pull everyone on tenterhooks the same way the DIs did. He turned his head, and his Mako-glowing eyes flicked across Aster's frame. "Ah, Doe. Good to have ya with us."

She cleared her throat and strangled her voice. "Sir…"

"Tonight…is gonna be brutal. Not gonna lie to you guys," he said, then punched his fist into his palm. "All you have to do is keep going. And when you think you're done and you can't do any more, you hafta dig deep and go on past the end. If you wanna be in SOLDIER, this is really gonna test your determination!"

* * *

They were taken from Midgar and beyond into the wastelands where the mountain ranges stretched to meet with the sky. Their task was simple, deceptively so. Run.

_The Unhinger_, they called it. The kind of phrase that stiffened backs and stood hairs on end. Every infantryman and members of SOLDIER would remember their _Unhinger_ challenge not-so-fondly, the name alone being enough to set teeth on edge.

It was a run. An uphill struggle across the Mythril Mountain-line, in which they were forced to maintain the pace that was set for them by a member of SOLDIER. A First Class SOLDIER even larger than Zack, with similarly black hair that was slicked back behind his ears. He was somewhere between five and ten years older than Zack, even more experienced, and carried an enormous sword on his back. His name was Angeal Hewley, one third of the most famed trio of SOLDIER. He ran at nowhere near a SOLDIER pace, but something past comfortable for the average man. But fail to keep up? Fall behind Zack who kept up the rear? You're out.

_Out_. For good.

Better, the exercise would not end until someone quit—not that they knew that. One got unlucky, slipped on some loose rocks and fractured his ankle. Two quit. One because he couldn't keep up, the other because self-doubt needled its way into his mind and told him, repeatedly whispered in his ear, you can't do this over and over and over again.

That voice spoke to everyone that night. Even those who would never admit it—like Aster. But twenty-one did not succumb. Sparrow didn't. Sadly, neither did Newberry.

The human body is far more capable than the mind likes to think it is.

Once back in the barracks, all was relatively quiet. Speaking to one another took too much of the energy reserves that were being used solely to undress, shower off the grime and get into bed. One of the loudest sounds came from Aster as she gasped while peeling off her sock along with half the skin of her heel from one hell of a blister. Everyone else had similar problems. Barnhill couldn't even walk on his right foot.

When Aster returned from showering—last, as always—and collapsed into bed, a man in an irritatingly familiar suit with a tight ponytail stormed through the door and demanded her attention.

"Get up."

She didn't move, save for burying her face in her hands. There was no way—surely not. It was over.

"I said, _up_. We've got a training exercise for you."

Her body flinched, her blackened and bruised stomach tensed in the anticipation of a blow that never came. So she got up

and went on past the end.

* * *

Aster was shoved into a Shinra-supplied truck. It was Mako-powered, as were all modern cars, but it wasn't military standard-issue. It was civilian.

Tseng took the wheel and launched them onto the highway, and also into a barrage of detailed, personal questions, supposedly required for the maintenance of her safety as an operative. It was paperwork sans the paper. "Do you know anyone affiliated with Shinra?"

"Not besides you, sunshine," she said frostily, holding up her head with a hand and staring out the window with drooping eyelids.

"Ex-Shinra?"

She shot her superior a sidelong glance. "You know I do. Bryan Andrews."

"I know that I know you do," he said, tapping the steering wheel impatiently. "Do you know what he did?"

_Nobody does_. Her eyes pulled out to the city skyline that breezed past the window. "Negative."

"May he hold a grudge against you?"

Aster bristled. "Why would he?"

He rolled his eyes, tightened his grip of the wheel. "Due to his vast incompetencies and unremarkable career."

Bryan was a man Aster had idolised for most of her adult life, so even though she tried her best not to look offended, her face descended into a childish, sulky scowl anyway.

"Last junction we passed?"

"Twenty-three," she said curtly.

"Impressive." He acknowledged her with the nod of his head. "Any affiliation with any other military or private faction?"

"Nope," she said, popping her _p_ and winding down the window, hoping the cool wind would lift the weight of her eyes.

"Doe," he said, voice straining in disbelief. "Listen. Your answers won't reflect negatively of you. You may answer truthfully—the purpose of these questions is to protect you, not incriminate you. If we don't know the answers, we can't protect you from them."

His words snapped her to full attention again. She scrunched her nose up, firstly at his uncharacteristically genuine sounding proposal, and secondly, _at said proposal_. "What? No. I was part of a small monster exterminating team, if that counts."

"Hm." He shrugged. "A pathetic one at that. As long as you believe you are not under any threat or duress from internal or external forces we have not, insofar, discussed, then I am satisfied."

"No more than the duress you apply," she grumbled with as much attitude as she dared.

He merely muttered under his breath, grinding his molars together. He pulled over on the shoulder and urged a swap of seats. Advanced Driving was important to the Turks—each operative was particularly skilled with at least one type of vehicle—and given that she hadn't a motorcyclist licence it made sense to enhance her four-wheeled skills.

"Occasionally, we are required to catch up to a target located on the opposite end of the city—most areas can be reached within twenty minutes by highway at our speeds, but navigating the streets comes with its own challenges. You need full control of the vehicle and to be fully alert," he said as Aster pulled back onto the highway, strapping himself in. Possibly deeming her driving unsafe from the onset—definitely by the extent of her exhaustion. "And I mean not just aware of what the cars surrounding you are doing, or that pedestrian and dog getting too close to the road, I mean foreseeing all of the above and their next five steps, and the next two or three of every other road user, all while giving full commentary and listening to the radio transmitting from HQ for updates, too."

Aster blew a stray lock of hair from her face as twenty pounds of anxiety dropped over her shoulders. She changed gears somewhat clumsily, readjusting to the feel of stick under her hand again. She hadn't driven stick since back in Icicle Inn.

"Don't get lazy," Tseng said, shooing her hand away and tapping an upturned pin that was glued to the gearstick. "Foot off the clutch. Hand off the gears."

"Right, right," she mumbled, fumbling to correct her positioning. "Destination?"

"Sector One."

Highway driving was relatively easy, so Aster thought. The difficulty lay in her burning eyelids; chronic exhaustion. Difficulty intensified further when Tseng turned up the communications radio and the transmissions between HQ and a few Turks live on the field buzzed through the car like white noise. Aster couldn't fathom out the military commands from the phonetic alphabet, and so the crackling filled her brain like cotton wool. She could just about hold a coherent train of commentary over her driving, and that was only due to the early morning sessions she'd had in practice.

"Heading up the Midgar Highway, northbound… Changing gear, checking rear-view mirror, left-wing, rear-view…" She turned her head fully. "Checking blindspots and changing lanes, preparing for exit in approximately—_AHHH_!"

Her yelp severed her commentary as her palm was pierced on the upturned pin following Tseng smacking her hand into it. The car veered out of sorts although she recovered relatively quickly.

"_I said don't get lazy_," he snapped. "Don't rest your hand on the stick! Do _not_ let fatigue defeat you!"

Her eyes prickled with tears from due shock as she yanked her punctured palm to her lips and sucked as if to extract the pain. She blinked those tears away swiftly, taking a few exceptionally deep breaths and returning her hand to the wheel as if the pressure might plug the rut in her palm.

"Is this how you're all trained?!" She shrieked.

"Yes," he said matter-of-factly. "Stop complaining."

Needless to say, Aster did not rest her hand on that gearstick again, and in fact made all of her gear changes significantly faster than before, connecting with the cool metal lever only when it was absolutely unavoidable. The adrenaline he supplied her with fought her tiredness.

The radio crackled steadily with frequent transmission, although in all honesty, Aster had blanked it out which was sort of defeated the objective. Or she had until a feminine voice wavered over the line. Her frustration teemed through the radio.

"HQ, I've lost the target. He entered a previously unknown car and he's heading for the highway, southbound!"

A stuffy voice, presumably someone back in HQ, said, "Roger, Cissnei, can you return to your vehicle?"

"I'm at least ninety seconds away."

"Rude, can you take control?"

"No. Position compromised, holding. Any backup on the highway?"

Tseng snatched the radio from the cradle. "This is Tseng, permission?"

"Roger, no change. Go ahead," said HQ.

"Heading southbound on highway. Prepared to take control. VRN?"

Aster shot him increasingly nervous glances. They were still heading northbound…

"Roger, Black SIERRA-Model X-RAY, VRN: FOXTROT, ALPHA, DELTA."

"Received," Tseng said, jabbing Aster's shoulder and pointing to a short bridge connecting the south and northbound motorways used only—and strictly only—for highway maintenance to traverse between both sections of floating road. "Now!"

Aster's eyes widened in panic, they were travelling much too fast for any type of u-turn, illegal or not. She braced herself and braked, hard, yanking the wheel around the turn with Tseng on the handbrake, drifting over the bridge connection.

"HELL YEAH!" She screamed, footing the gas and shooting down the southbound highway, adrenaline coursing through her veins like something she'd never quite felt before.

Tseng spoke altogether calm as ever, pulling the radio to his lips. "Approaching target. Approximate location?"

"Target location between Sector Six main and junction twenty-seven."

"Roger, approaching."

He briefed Aster hurriedly. "Not our original plan, but training all the same. We've got four minutes of ground to cover, hit one-ten, one-twenty, whatever you can control for approximately three minutes then slow it to NSL—"

"NSL?"

"National Speed Limit—Aster, did you even pass your test?"

"Well, _yeah_, but—"

"At NSL we only want to blend in. We need to find the target to trail him, but not obviously or he'll notice he's being followed by some bat out of hell at over a hundred."

"Got it."

The speeds were terrifying if given a thought, so she didn't think. Her commentary fell into self-reassurance. Tseng returned the radio to its cradle; it was all about 'living the cover' as he repeatedly drilled into her. Any suspicious character even vaguely aware of the concept of counter-surveillance would notice a man following him in a car with a radio at his mouth. If it's not obvious he's part of intelligence, he'd at least look like undercover police or security department. Not what they needed right now.

Aster spotted the registration number of the marked black vehicle only moments after Tseng did. He relayed the information to base. "HQ, we've acquired control of the target."

The guy at Headquarters audibly sighed with relief. "Roger."

"Any leads on destination?"

"Negative."

A voice crackled into the transmission. The girl, Cissnei. "Permission?"

Tseng looked around. No junctions for at least sixty seconds so there was no chance they'd lose the vehicle before then, meaning Cissnei likely had time to speak. Aster nodded to herself, picking up the cues. Cissnei had to ask permission to speak in case Tseng needed to jump on the radio more urgently since he was in control of the target.

"Yes, no change," he said.

"I'm back in vehicle on the slip above the plate, ready to take over at any exit junction," she said. Her voice was sweet, youthful, but controlled.

"Roger," Tseng said.

Aster's palms were slipping on the wheel despite how hard she gripped it. Her fatigue was gone, the pain in her palm dissipated under the rush. Under the thrill. She kept a close eye on her target, muttering commentary under her breath, not loud enough to disturb transmission, but loud enough to keep her own concentration.

The black S-model X car veered off towards Sector Six at junction twenty-nine, which Tseng immediately barked into the radio.

"Roger, I have control!" Cissnei chirped. "Thanks, Tseng!"

He chuckled. "You're welcome."

"WOW!" Aster yelled as soon as his finger depressed the mute button, shaking and bouncing in her seat. "That. Was. AWESOME. Also, what the _hell_ just happened?"

He smirked faintly and attempted to translate. "Cissnei was on foot and was unable to follow the target when he unexpectedly entered a vehicle. Rude, the only other operative on the field, was also on foot. They're lucky we were around or they would have lost him. They would have had no idea what junction he exited the highway from. He could have escaped to any sector—exit junction thirty."

She did as told, veering off the highway and onto the slip towards the slums. "Who was the target?"

"Classified."

Aster rolled her eyes and shook her head as the vehicle descended beneath the plate. "Of course."

The slums are dark by their very design. Sunlight can't reach and the stars don't shine as Shinra, or rather the plate that holds it, sits in their place. No moon, no stars, and the giant lights that gift the citizens are turned off, casting a thick blackness over the whole land. The closest things to stars would be the twinkling of small safety lights here and there, like the ones that line the pillars of each slum and maybe the occasional headlight from late-running trains or old street lamps. Because of this so real darkness, not many people stay out past lights out.

The radio continued to run haywire. The target, tailed by Rude, sank deep into the unfinished Sector Six slums to a building of previously unknown connection to the man—or that was what Aster could gather from the snippets of intelligence code that she understood.

Cissnei had entered the vicinity on foot, not far from Wall Market, and Aster was ordered to pull up at the gate between Sector Six and Sector Seven behind a small children's park.

"I'm going off radio—they're everywhere," Cissnei said, her voice a whisper and almost indiscernible from the white noise. "I need back up, _now_. I repeat, going off radio."

Tseng muttered hastily, "Crap."

"What now?" Aster asked.

"_Now _you stay here," he said, grabbing a second radio from the glove compartment. He switched it on and inserted a tiny earpiece. "Wait here, _do not _move, and keep the radio on. You are not an active part of this operation, do you understand me? If anyone who is not me approaches you, you drive back to HQ."

She nodded with a slack jaw. "Sir."

He hadn't waited for her response. He left the truck with a slam of the door and the next she heard from him was over the radio. "On foot. Approaching vicinity. Permission to proceed?"

Aster shrank in on herself. The darkness of the slums crept into the truck as the engine died with the key and only the radio kept her company. Her eyes made out the faint outline of a lonely swing set in the pitch-dark, something ominous about its presence. Playgrounds are creepy at night.

The shiver down her spine sparked her limbs as she slammed the locks down on each of the doors. She returned her shaking hands to the steering wheel and gripped it like it supplied her life, and every time fatigue threatened to pull her into sleep, the radio barked static in her ears and jolted her upright once again. She gave herself a moment to reflect upon the injurious twenty-four hours her body had endured and intentionally rubbed the back of her heel to inflict pain. A reminder of the tenacity of the human body and mind. Despite the circumstance, she could endure. She was from the Knowlespole, after all.

Cissnei's exasperated voice snapped her from her thoughts. Her laboured breaths filled the car. "Target has left the building, heading north beyond Wall Market towards the slum depths—shit, I'm surrounded!"

HQ responded promptly. "Can you return to your vehicle?"

"No, negative!"

"Rude, whereabouts?"

"North of Wall Market," he said, "I have control of the target."

"Can you return to your vehicle?"

"No, three minutes."

Cissnei cut in, audibly distressed, whispering but shrill all the same. "There's too many of them!"

Aster fumbled for the radio and turned the key in the ignition simultaneously, almost dropping both with shaking fingers. "Uh—permission?"

There was a slight pause. "Roger, no change," Rude said.

"I, uh—I'm near the Sector Seven gate heading north, uh—" Aster's shaking voice and little knowledge of intelligence jargon was slowing her down, so she dropped it in favour of common language. "Cissnei, where are you?"

"On foot in the alley behind the Honeybee Inn!"

"On my way."

Aster floored it. The engine revved in resistance and shot through the small park, tearing down a small fence in its wake. She veered the truck down an alley directly behind where she assumed the Honeybee Inn to be, driving as recklessly as she needed to make track. The wing mirror to her side crashed into a building due to the narrowness of the path and smashed into her window, splintering the glass. The mirror was bent but not broken off.

"_Shit_!" Aster yelled over the screeching of metal on brick. "UM—I'm less than a minute away…! You ready, Cissnei?"

"Roger! I can hear you!"

The headlights coupled with a good deal of squinting revealed several sprinting figures in the distance and Aster realised almost too late she had locked the doors. Eyes wide and no time to think, she reached over the passenger side to pull the unlock catch. She swallowed hard, watching Cissnei's positioning and the figures chasing behind her. One wrong move and she'd mow her down.

Aster surged past them, squeezing tight into the wall and in doing so the wing mirror finally tore off, shattering the driver's side window with it. Glass exploded into the interior and covered the floor and Aster's seat—which incidentally she was only half sitting in as she was fully leaned over at the passenger side door, foot on the pedal and one hand on the wheel. She slowed to Cissnei's pace before shoving the door open.

The girl lunged into the vehicle and slammed the door behind her, and Aster threw herself back into her glass-ridden seat with relief and pressed the pedal to the floor. She let Cissnei do the honours.

"HQ this is Cissnei in vehicle, that's Charlie One Two. Proceeding north."

"I have control, apprehending target." Tseng's stony voice filled the car. "Doe, agh…"

She couldn't help but smirk as his clear disdain.

His voice hardened. "I need you to extract me from the Sector Seven gate in _exactly_ two minutes and forty-five seconds, do you understand me?" he ordered, breaking the 'Secret Turks Language' just for long enough to drill instructions into his idiot student's head.

"Roger!"

But secretly she panicked. It had taken her longer than that to get here, and she had no idea where this road ended or if she could even turn around. There was certainly no room to manoeuvre in this alley.

Cissnei and Aster looked at each other in instant mutual understanding.

"Reverse!" The Turk screamed.

"Oh my Goddess—!" Aster cried breathily, slamming on the breaks. Cissnei braced her hands against the dashboard as Aster cranked the truck into reverse and tore back through the small street even more dangerously than she had coming in. She winced as the vehicle hit something hard, throwing her and Cissnei about in their seats but not really slowing them down.

Tseng said, "Target acquired. Returning to rendezvous."

"You're good this side—shit!" Cissnei spoke too soon and threw her hands in front of her face as Aster knocked off the passenger-side mirror.

"This is so bad!" Aster yelled, craning her whole body to get a view out of the back window now her mirrors were bust.

Cissnei broke out a white grin. "Then why do you sound like you're enjoying this so much?"

"Because I am!"

The truck shot through the alleyway, out into the dirt roads east of the Sector Seven gate and right over the torn down fencing. She stopped in front of the gate with a few seconds to spare.

Tseng yanked open the rear door and climbed in. "Get out of here and back up to HQ, but circle through Sector Seven and Eight before heading up plate to make sure you're not followed."

Heart pounding, Aster nodded aggressively, pulling the truck onward until the gate closed firmly behind them. "Right. Where's the target? I thought you got him?"

That's when she actually looked at Tseng. Blood soaked his previously pristine shirt and suit jacket. The colour drained from her face and settled like lead in her gut.

"Oh…" she said dumbly as her stomach turned. "You did…"

He nodded.

"I did."

* * *

The Turks plus one Selective grouped high in the Shinra building, but Aster was not permitted to learn the floor number that they disembarked from the elevator on. The location of the Turks Headquarters and command centre was a closely guarded secret and known only to few due to the confidential nature of the operations that go on there, but Aster wasn't stupid. They must have been above sixty _somewhere_, surely, deep in the labyrinthine floors. All she knew was that there was a lot of keycard swiping and identification authorisation going on, and also that upon reaching the meeting room they were destined to enter, Aster was denied flatly by Tseng who shoved her into a chair in a waiting room just outside. While they enjoyed a debrief, Aster's head spun.

At this point, she was starting to see double. She pressed her fingers to her eyes and waited. Time had been stolen from her so much in the previous weeks. She made a mental note to get herself a watch.

Eventually, the panel door slid open and Rude, Cissnei and Tseng emerged. Rude simply passed with a courteous nod in her direction before pressing onwards and outwards. Cissnei, as Aster now realised, stood covered in dirt, dust, blood and sweat. Her wavy auburn hair was damp and flat and dirty, and the state of Cissnei reminded Aster of herself both now after the Unhinger and the all-night escapades, and also of herself fresh out of the cell what felt like years ago, when she still wore her clothes from home and the blood of the monsters in the deadly climes of the Great Glacier.

But despite these similarities, something was starkly different. The way she held herself. The fire behind her amber eyes. Her posture, her stature. Where Aster looked defeated, Cissnei was powerful. Undoubtedly strong externally, but internally too, and it shone.

Her suit was dishevelled, but she wore it well, and proudly. "Thanks for helping me out back there. You make a cracking getaway driver, y'know," she said, folding her arms and smiling. "Pretty good! I'll let Tseng tear you a new one now. See you around if you survive it."

With a friendly wink, she followed Rude.

Aster smiled and nodded weakly. She was beyond tired. Adrenaline, like coffee, was a short-term high with an almighty crash. She felt like she could take any hell from Tseng simply because all she cared about right now was dismissal and bedtime.

He stormed out of the debrief room led by his diatribe. "I don't need to tell you that you weren't permitted to attend the debrief due to not being a full member of the Turks. Access to this level of information is strictly off-limits."

"Then why'd you bring me?"

"To debrief you myself," he snapped. "The mission, in basic terms, was not so much as a _failure_ as it was an extraordinarily clumsy success. It was supposed to be clean and easy, but it began to go wrong when the target entered the Midgar highway, as you know. Without supplying you with too much information, the mission could not be abandoned due to the lack of knowledge as to his new whereabouts."

"Counter-surveillance is an enormous job. We have leads on any given individual of interest that span months, sometimes years. Sometimes decades. We know where they frequent. Often where they live. Sometimes we don't have to do more than keep an eye on them."

He gave her a pointed look and she shrank under it. Oh, she understood. Wondered how big her own file was.

"There are whole intelligence teams for that outside of the Turks force. But when the target goes somewhere new, a building that we have other information about, well, it can become an issue. So several men locating and potentially discovering Cissnei's identity was unfortunate, and as such Rude dispatched them after you injured all three of them whilst reversing through the alleyway."

Aster instantly felt a return of the meal she had eaten about twenty years ago in the mess with Rex last night.

"And finally, as for flat out ignoring my instructions."

"Hey, but, wait—"

"—_Shut it_."

She did. Swallowed her bravery.

"You acted outside of your prerogative and could have costed an entire lead, or worse, the target himself. This is inexcusable behaviour." He leaned into her face and lowered his voice. "You are not a hero. You are a child from a small town who happens to be good at driving a stick shift."

He sighed. For the first time, he looked just about as exhausted as she did. And although he was a dangerous man, and an unpredictable man, he wasn't wholly unreasonable. His back straightened and his voice returned to a more natural, less threatening note.

"But as it happened, you did not cost the lead nor the target. You acted to the benefit of Cissnei and the operation as a whole. But this does not take from the fact that the basis of this action came from a place of disobedience. As such, for punishment, you ought to be confined to the cells for multiple days."

_Again! Time stolen again!_

"However," he said, holding a hand out to silence her before she could protest, "given that you would simply sleep I see little point. Better punishment would be to send you straight back to training."

He watched dread, disbelief and horror wash over her face all at once. He smirked. "Hurry up. You're fifteen minutes late for Hand-to-Hand with Lockhart."


	7. Taken by the Sky

**A/N: Good morning, afternoon, or evening all! Another Wednesday, another update! We have a brief appearance from one of our beloveds today, although we won't see much of him until he takes up a larger role later in the story. Looking forward to that. I'll probably be changing the summary in the next few weeks to better reflect where the story is going, but I didn't do it initially because I didn't want to spoil the events of the first couple of chapters so soon. Anyway, enough of me rambling, enjoy the chapter!**

10th Apr '19

* * *

**Chapter 7: Taken by the Sky**

"The bags under your eyes have bags under their eyes."

"Thanks, Rex. Appreciate it."

The hazel-eyed boy shrugged and scratched his back with a training rifle. The fake guns were perfect replicas of those that they would be supplied with upon pass out into the infantry, they even weighed the same with a bulk of roughly ten pounds, but they fired lasers, not bullets. The cadets were given points according to their accuracy, and said points would be converted into scores that would be added to their existing tally on the scoreboard that the DIs liked to lord around to 'promote friendly rivalry'. Right.

Rex didn't even notice the drill sergeant screaming at him from the other end of the shooting range for his handling, shouting, "Well done, IDIOT, you just gave yourself a second asshole!"

He was deducted twenty-five points. That was probably a lot.

"I just thought I'd let you know in case you were unaware," he said with a grin, taking aim at his target thirty feet ahead of him.

"Again,_ thank you_," she scoffed, returning her focus to her own target. The indoor range was cramped and almost wholly metal or grey plastic; it wasn't as nice as the polished wooden floorboards and mirrors of the Hand-to-Hand combat rooms or the gyms, but it was certainly fit for purpose. "You're not looking so great yourself."

"That is objectively incorrect."

Laughter escaped her lips as she fired at her target and it lit up with bright red dots where the laser met. Her surname on the electronic session leaderboard ticked up two places, bumping Rex beneath her. Here, she was fourth. Marksmanship was her greatest strength, owing largely to her experience with firearms in Icicle Inn.

"Better watch out, Rex," she said, turning her rifle over in her hands several times then nodding towards the board when he seemed confused. "You're slipping."

He spun around and regarded the scores with a scrunched nose. Sixth. "I swear I had like, twenty more points than that." He shrugged. Apparently, he got over it quickly. "Meh. Who cares?"

"Other than Shinra?" Aster asked, pressing the rifle back into her shoulder and hiding her smirk behind it, "Rohrbach and Newberry."

Rex snickered and lit the centre of his target. "Yeah, you're not wrong."

The overall scoreboard was only revealed once a week, a complete tally compiled from each category. It wasn't especially important to the cadets—not those who weren't particularly insecure about their ability, anyway—but it was a useful tool for the staff. After all, at the end of basic training and school of infantry, they'd need some kind of guide as to the physical capabilities of the cadets when deciding who would make it into SOLDIER, if anyone.

Despite it only being a guide, and a loose one at that, those with even a thread of a competitive nature saw it as a challenge. The top five, of which Surrexit was a part but Aster not, leapfrogged frequently. Each of them seemed equally eager to attain the elusive top spot. All except Rohrbach who held it most often without seeming to try. A runaway leader.

"Cadets!" The drill instructor called, "Ain't no way we're letting you idiots touch real rifles 'til you pass all your handling tests."

He flipped the catches on a steel case and pulled a gun out of foam padding. It was identical to their dummies yet obvious that it wasn't. He set it firmly into Rohrbach's hands. "So, we'll demonstrate with the highest scorer for competency only."

Aster remembered what Tifa said about the boy's upbringing. Maybe he'd been firing guns and practicing martial arts since the womb. Probably. He was a giant of a kid yet young in features, maybe Aster's age or even slightly younger. His face was long and straight, his hair pale and buzzed short, just like they kept it in the Junon military branches.

He was guided through the loading and firing process while the DI narrated the method to the rest of the group. Yes, he knew his way around it too easily. He'd done this before.

His aim and control were decent, and the instructor seemed happy with the result. Generally speaking, the rest of the high scorers looked somewhat bent out of shape, and the others crowded around and watched because they were made to, not because they wanted to. Being taught to load and fire a standard rifle as she had done countless times before quickly glazed Aster's eyes over with boredom. She considered the implications of publicly placing one recruit above the others. Surely it brewed resentment—that was certainly her experience so far—but in theory, she supposed it would increase competition and therefore productivity. In theory.

Her mind next wandered to how the gunshots sounded vaguely like tiny fireworks, then snapped back to attention at the bark of dismissal.

Mess hall food, though bland and dry, tasted like fine wine and foie gras to hungry cadets. Sleep deprivation was really punching its toll out of Aster by now, as if it hadn't already, and she found herself casually wishing Tseng had locked her in the cell for a few days after all. The cafeteria table suddenly looked like a great pillow, so she pressed her fingers to her burning eyes to resist the urge.

"Where were you last night? They put the princess up in a hotel 'cause she was feelin' unwell after the Unhinger?" said Huntington, number four in the overall rankings, leaning across Rex's chest and lap to jab at the girl next to him.

Rex rolled his eyes and cut in before Aster even got a chance. "Whatever, she's got a pair of tits and still got more balls than you. Will you piss off?" he said, shoving the boy off him and back into his seat. "Tryna murder a cheeseburger here and you're ballsing up my aura."

The boy snorted and shoved Rex back in the shoulder. "You're such a goon."

"Pretty sure you meant _god,_ but alright."

Aster straightened her back, affronted, yet spoke quietly so no one else would hear. "You think I can't handle myself?"

"Nah," he said, grabbing his burger and speaking to it rather than her. "I act in defence of my personal space."

She snorted, mildly amused but not entirely convinced. She chewed her cheek. "I…I wasn't in a hotel, you know."

"Hell, we all know that," said a kid named Matt with apparently good hearing opposite her at the table. "But every squad needs a punching bag."

She looked up with a sour pucker to her lips, unsure what to make of him. "The pleasure is all mine."

He smirked at her gall and she returned the sentiment, that is until she noted the shine to his uncommonly pale grey eyes that reminded her too much of the younger brother and sister she had left behind. Her smile fell and she chucked her desert pot onto Rex's tray.

"Don't know about you but I'm ready for bed," she said, untangling her legs from the stool.

Rex frowned. "What, they gave you the night off?"

The cadets would be free after DI time, but it was exceedingly rare for Aster to accompany them.

"I wish," she moaned. "I've got two hours of Advanced Driving and two after that of PT. If I'm not back in the barracks by twenty-three hundred hours, assume the worst."

He snatched her wrist as she turned away to grab her gaze again, uncharacteristically serious. "Aster, they'll wipe you out."

She shrugged loosely. She was sleep deprived, yes. The past thirty-six hours hadn't been for the faint of heart and she was running on her fourth or fifth wind and force of will alone. Her eyes were heavy and her concentration dwindled, but she carried on because if she didn't, she'd be beaten until she would. Credit where it was due, the girl was tenacious. Maybe to a fault. A fault that Tseng exploited.

She pulled her wrist from his waning grip and grabbed her mostly untouched dinner tray to shake away the intensity of his stare. Then, she left him, depositing the plate to the kitchen on her way out the door, with the uneasy feeling of Rex's eyes between her shoulder blades.

* * *

"All in all…it's been a hell of a week."

Aster threw herself into one of the green felt-topped barstools and leaned her head back against the counter in Tifa's Seventh Heaven. As sweat rolled from her forehead into her hair, she reached for the closest damp towel and threw it over her face. She was balanced at an awkward angle somewhat…precariously.

She heard a small thump beside her. Tifa had vaulted herself to sit on the bar top next to her exhausted friend. She peeled back the corner of the cloth to reveal one of Aster's wide blue eyes staring back at her. Tifa paused for effect. "This is a dishcloth."

"_Ew_!" She tore the rag from her face and launched it behind her over the bar. It slapped into a shelf with a wet thunk. "Why do you keep dishcloths on the bar!"

"Oh, I dunno…cleaning?" Tifa said with a wry smile, handing Aster a clean wet towel to cool her face with instead.

As Aster pressed the cloth over her eyes, cold water trickled across her cheeks and into her ears, but she didn't care. Tifa had intensified their training sessions since recognising some potential in the past few weeks. She had assumed responsibility in some part for ensuring her new friend was ready for whatever Tseng might throw at her next.

Tifa pulled her knees up and rested her feet against one of the barstools. "You must be exhausted. You really don't have to help out in the bar, you know."

"No, honestly, I'd rather be here. I'd rather not rest," Aster said, voice muffled by the cloth. "If I rest, if I slow down, I might not be able to start going again."

Aster over-chewed her words for a moment, having not realised the truth until it came out of her own mouth, then finally pulled the towel from her face. "Besides, where would I go?"

"Back to your barracks?" Tifa suggested, picking at her cuticle.

"_Psshhh._" Aster rolled her back up to sit in the stool properly. "And do what? With who?"

The older girl shrugged and tucked her hair behind her ear, revealing a pretty pearl drop earring that wobbled at her touch. "You're friends with Surrexit, aren't you?"

"Yeah. He's the closest—_only_—friend I have in there," she said, then stared out towards the expanse of the slums through the window. "But he's got his own buddies and ninety percent of them can't stand the sight of me. I don't wanna intrude."

Tifa furrowed her brow. "He does?"

Aster broke her gaze with the window to look at Tifa, who was now holding her chin in her hand. "What?"

"Hmm, it's nothing. Just that I had penned Surrexit as a bit of an outsider, but group dynamics do morph as time goes on, I suppose."

Within an hour, both girls prepared themselves for the evening ahead. Aster pushed back into the bar by the creaky saloon doors and noticed a small watch with a slim, black band laid atop of the counter that hadn't been there before.

Frowning, she approached it, looking into the plain white face and catching the hint of her reflection when it hit the right light.

"Oh, that's for you," Tifa said, appearing from the kitchen and forcing Aster out of her skin in fright. She stifled a laugh and nudged the dainty timepiece towards her. "You mentioned Tseng 'stealing time' from you. Thought you could borrow a watch to keep better track."

Aster's smile grew into a beam as she fastened the clasp around her wrist immediately, alongside the bracelet that bore her name. Tifa's kindness really had been pivotal for Aster's survival in Midgar. "Thank you so much."

Tifa shrugged modestly. "I don't really wear watches anyway. They get in the way of the style of gloves I like to wear. But hey, it is technically contraband, so don't get caught wearing it in training," she said, half in her instructor tone but tinged by her smile.

Aster grinned. "Got it, ma'am."

Tifa laughed as she grabbed the beer tap and filled a pint glass for a regular customer that stumbled through the doors. "Can you do me a favour? Let me know if you catch a shock of blonde hair, okay? You'll know it when you see it. There's nothing else quite like it."

"No problem," she said, leaning into the counter and drumming her fingernails on the wood. "I got it. I am _in_ this business. Observation, hunting for people. Intelligence!"

Tifa couldn't help but snort with laughter, promptly covering her nose and mouth behind a hand. "You've been 'in this business' for just over two weeks."

"_Four _weeks, I'll have you know," Aster said, grinning, "if you count my two weeks in the cell, or whatever it was and add a few extra days for charity."

The nozzle slipped from Tifa's fingers. "Wait, _what?_"

Her severity made Aster start. Unfortunate timing, as she ended up over-filling a glass for the customer before her. She looked away from Tifa sheepishly to wipe the spill of lager clean.

"_Cell_? You were imprisoned?" Tifa asked once their customers wandered over to their tables. She mounted the tap back upon its holder. "I thought you were just with the Turks for direct training…!"

"I mean, I _was_. They just have interesting…methodology," she murmured, with less grit than intended. "In on the fifteenth, out on the twenty-sixth."

Tifa shook her head as if she couldn't compute Aster's words into understandable sentences. "Basic training began on the eleventh. You lost two weeks for no reason?"

"There _was_ a reason!" Aster snapped, desperate to defend the logic, little though there may be. The blind belief that it had been a worthy exercise was all that had prevented her from succumbing to despair. More painful than the experience itself was only the thought of it having been futile. She wouldn't be able to stop the tears. Yet despite this, words of defence wouldn't come. Maybe they weren't really there to start with.

Tifa's wine-red eyes drifted to her watch surrounding her friend's wrist. Suddenly Aster's concept of stolen time made more sense. "Don't let them brainwash you," she said with a motherly edge and stared off at the door.

Aster raked her fingers through her hair and blew a stray away petulantly when it fell into her face. She didn't want to think about Shinra; it felt too good to let her hair down, figuratively and literally. These days it was always pinned tightly to her scalp and pressed beneath a helmet. It was nice for it to fall loosely down her back. It was for this reason that she hadn't braided it today like she so often used to, because the feeling of free-flowing hair had become luxurious and, in a way, sacred. It was clean and soft and pale which shaved years off her face that had been aged by exhaustion—it worked well to counteract the circles under her eyes that no amount of make-up could cover.

And while Aster relaxed into her barmaid role, chatting with patrons and laughing, Tifa appeared on edge. Every few minutes or so she'd throw glances to the door, over the shoulders of her customers or up from a glass she was pouring. When Aster grabbed a bottled beer for a guy with spiky red hair and a black button down shirt—that wasn't buttoned up at all—and noticed he was outright staring at Tifa and she didn't even realise, Aster decided that whoever Tifa was looking for must be really important to have her so sidetracked. The girl looked positively bugged out.

* * *

The pace of Seventh Heaven was kind of perfect. There were enough customers to fill all the tables and the room with cheers and laughter and singing—and a good deal of drunken slurring—but not so many that there was no room to move. Work doesn't feel like work when it's enjoyable.

While keeping an eye out for a shock of blonde hair as instructed, Aster found herself watching out for a catch of dark hair, too, consciously or not. And when it appeared, she felt a quickening in her chest and an overwhelming urge to occupy her hands. She wiped them across her apron. It didn't help.

"Staying out of trouble?" Zack said with a smirk, leaning against the counter.

"Goddess, no." Aster snorted then pressed her fingers to her mouth to stop the answer that had already been delivered. She bit the tip of her finger when he laughed. "I mean…you know…of course. I do my very best to avoid trouble at all costs."

"Aw, really? I preferred the first answer."

Tifa scoffed as she popped the cap off a cold bottle of beer with a ring she wore during opening hours specifically for the task. She placed the bottle in front of Zack with a dull thud and quirked up her brow. "The first answer was closer to the truth, anyway."

Aster shrugged exaggeratedly and feigned innocence. "I have no idea what she's talking about."

Tifa's smiley response quickly faded into nervousness when her eyes swept over the crowd. Tifa's nerves alone were enough to put Aster on edge, and a quick scan of the room of bobbing heads showed her a…yellow bird? Aster couldn't see properly, but also kind of preferred to believe a baby chocobo was fluttering through the room as opposed to the truth.

Tifa disturbed her from her thoughts with a touch to her shoulder. "I'll be right back," she said, and opened the bar divide, weaving through the tables.

Aster pulled one of the taps mounted against the counter slowly, watching the amber liquid run down the side of the glass she held at an angle to control the foam.

"So, what brought you to Midgar?" said Zack, taking the recently vacated bar stool and a pull from his bottle.

Her throat dried out. Two reasons: the first being that she had too closely watched his lower lip curl around the bottle and wondered how that might feel—that brought a flush of pink to her cheeks. The second being that, actually, she didn't want to tell him. She didn't want to tell him, but she didn't want to lie to him either, and these were difficult to reconcile with one another.

He paused from his swig, probably wondering what he'd just said that could have made her looked so freaked out and wide-eyed all of a sudden.

His apprehension knocked her out of her daze. "Sorry—I, uh, I used to run figure skating classes for under-sixteens," she blurted out.

She was thankful, then, that a woman in her late twenties with red lipstick that withered away from the edges of her lips flagged her down for an order of a glass of red wine. Thankful for the extra moments to gather herself and solidify her resolve to remain as close to the truth as was entirely possible, while retaining her position as an individual independent from Shinra. It was starting to feel like a dirty little secret. And it was getting hard to say whether she honestly just wanted to separate work from play, or if it was rather something she was ashamed of. Ashamed of her circumstances, of herself.

Thankful, even though the woman was making some eyebrow-raising, albeit drunken, comments about Zack to her friend. He was aware, Aster could tell, though his relaxed posture didn't change. If anything he looked amused. Probably used to the attention.

Aster placed the glass on the counter just slightly too hard, the bang slightly too loud, to interrupt the woman's somewhat predatory grin. Aster scrunched her nose up when the woman winked at Zack as she left.

When Zack looked at Aster and started to smirk, she quickly rubbed her nose with the back of her wrist as though she merely had an itch or was about to sneeze. He didn't mention it.

"Figure skating, huh?"

"Yeah." Her face, her entire demeanour, brightened. Words flowed more naturally again, as they should from an eighteen-year-old girl. Not a soldier. "It was a cute little part-time job that ran perfectly with my training. Skating training, I mean. I do, uh," _did_, she mentally corrected, "competitions and stuff. Nothing international or anything like that, though."

"Oh, so that's why you're in Midgar?" he asked, cocking his head to the side. "You wanna make it big in skating?"

"Well," she said, and couldn't cage her small, knowing grin. "I'm certainly trying to make it big. Maybe not in skating…!"

As a soft chuckle escaped her lips, it occurred to her that she wasn't necessarily supposed to know what he did for a living, either. He didn't know, after all, that he had passed orders over her, that she was obligated to act at his any given request. He also didn't know he'd rubbed her back and congratulated her as she threw up on a slab of rock under the moon after completing the Unhinger mere days ago—although that bit was likely for the best.

"What about yourself?" she asked casually.

He ran a hand through his hair, raven spikes bobbing in its wake, revealing the glint of a silver earring that caught an orange glow from somewhere in the bar. The label on his beer bottle had become very interesting. He picked at it with his thumb.

"I work for Shinra. I'm with SOLDIER," he said with an unreadable expression though he spoke tentatively like the words were weighted and volatile. Aster supposed that some words really were dangerous in the slums, where the division between Shinra-haters and Shinra-lovers appeared very extreme and very apparent.

She smiled warmly, to let him know in which court she fell. "Knew there was something about those eyes, you know."

"SOLDIER trademark," he said, grinning at her, all prior traces of uncertainty washed away, with overwhelming self-confidence in its stead.

She sighed dreamily, trying not to laugh, dramatically dropping her chin into her hands and elbows into the counter. "The Mako that makes a man a god."

He called her bluff and leaned towards her with an endearingly cheeky smile. "Wanna take a closer look?"

Her chest tightened, one of these days her mouth was gonna get her into some serious predicament, but there was no harm in flirting was there? With her commander…? No?

"Wouldn't I love to," she said, leaning in teasingly only to wander further down the bar just as their faces drew nearer, "but I have a customer to serve."

He chuckled, shaking his head and leaning back in his seat in defeat, taking a long pull from his beer. Eyes following her. "If only I could get you own your own, right?" he called.

"If only," she remarked, rolling her eyes with a sly grin. She could pretend to be smooth on the surface all she liked to anyone who believed, but underneath her heart was pounding and her palms were sticky against the beer tap.

* * *

When had all the tables emptied? Where did everyone go?

Aster's peripheral finally widened enough to see past Zack's stunning Mako-infused eyes and beyond into the darkening room. The bar was deserted, and _clean_, suggesting Tifa had already swept through and moved the empty glasses to the dishwasher. A while must have passed since then, though, since Tifa looked comfortably sat, chatting to a blonde in one of the booths in the corner of the room, near a killer-looking, retro pinball machine that Aster made a quick mental note to try out soon.

"Tifa, there's been a—a mass exodus…!"

The barmaid started to laugh at Aster's completely bewildered expression and slid out of her seat. "We closed about half an hour ago. How did you not notice?"

Aster blinked twice, glanced at Zack, then back to Tifa. She opened her mouth to defend herself—blame sleep deprivation or something—but then she spotted the shock of pokey blonde hair Tifa had asked her to look out for, oh, maybe two, three, four hours ago?

"Um. I think that's the guy you were looking for," Aster stage whispered, but had to curl her lips around the straw in her orange juice so as to not start laughing.

Tifa frowned and placed her hands on her hips, but the smiles on her friends' faces must have weakened her. "Aster, Zack, this is Cloud…a good friend of mine."

Zack twisted awkwardly in his stool to have a look. "Oh, hey Cloud. You still here?"

"No, I left three hours ago," the aforementioned blonde called across the bar, blue eyes bright across the room. Mako-infused. SOLDIER trademark.

"Dork," Zack yelled. "Why you gotta be mean?"

Tifa shook her head incredulously. "You know each other?"

"Cloud and I go way back, Teef," Zack drawled with a yawn, stretching out a limb in every direction. When this compromised his balance on the barstool, swinging back onto two legs and almost falling, Aster almost choked on her drink lurching to grab him. She did grab his forearm, but only after he'd already stabilised himself. They shared a second-too-long glance before laughing.

Completely unaware, Cloud spoke equally as nonchalantly as Zack had, "Yeah, like…six years back? Somethin' like that."

"B-but," Tifa's voice dropped to little over a whisper, "I looked for you. I read all the newspapers, I…"

Cloud's brows knitted together until a small crease formed between them. "Tifa?"

If it weren't for the stripped and gutted state of the bar, Aster would not have heard this exchange. Respecting this, she pretended she hadn't after all. Zack appeared much of the same mind. He looked at Aster and nudged his head towards the door, the unusual quill-like spikes of his hair sway faintly. She nodded and smiled, but it fell as soon as he turned his back to her. The evening was coming to an end. The pause button to her discomfort—to put it lightly—was about to become unpressed.

The pitch-dark slums were eerily familiar after the events of a few nights before. Stepping from the saloon doors, she had expected to meet the cold breeze of the night but instead met just a stiff, stagnant air. It wasn't hot but it wasn't cold, either. Stuffy, even in winter. No stars to be seen, let alone wish upon.

"Can I walk you home?" Zack asked, shoving his hands into his pockets. He walked down the steps outside the bar and turned to her at the bottom. Aster at a couple of steps up made them stand roughly the same height.

She found a quick, relatively harmless…lie. "Thanks, but I'll be staying with Tifa for a while."

Aster thought she caught the corner of his smile twitch just faintly, but brushed the thought away as nonsense. Cloud passed her on his way down the stairs and jumped into the driver's side of the Shinra car they appeared to have arrived together in—probably with others. Cloud must have been the night's designated driver.

Zack nodded at her with a small smile and left for the car. He set his hand on the door handle, hesitated for a moment, then looked back at her. "So…I'll see you again?"

"I'll be here," she said all too eagerly.

He grinned. "Goodnight."


	8. The Shift

**A/N: You guys, my life is a joke right now. I've been studying like eight hours a day for the past three or four weeks and I'm d.y.i.n.g (I'm not very studious). I do love what I study but…I just wanna write. I came up with a super nice little story element that I've written out that takes place in, oh…about twenty-five chapter's time? So that's all good, living for that.**

**This chapter starts to see a bit of a turn towards Aster's frazzled mental state, who she is personally versus who she is in uniform which is something of a recurring theme throughout the story as a whole. And the plot begins to thicken again from probably here on out, I'd say. Exciting stuff!**

**Can I just say a massive thanks to anyone reading this, by the way? If you have any questions or anything you wanna say, please do! Anyways, I hope that wherever you are you're having a fantastic day!**

17th Apr '19

* * *

**Chapter 8: The Shift**

They did meet again, only it was much sooner than he knew.

First, they met a few days later, when Zack was overseeing the development of cadet training from Stage One and signed off a few documents and barked a few short commands. Aster's heart fully stopped. It was like he had a switch. The laid-back, laughing, and overtly flirtatious gent from the bar was entirely different from the uniformed, experienced young man that stood with his arms folded and feet shoulder width apart while discussing—presumably—the competencies of the squad and the curriculum they were to face with his colleagues.

The charming smile was ever-present, but something was definitely different. But it wasn't like Aster was in any position to pass judgement in that respect. She too was different in uniform. And that distinction was getting worse.

Then, they met once more at mess late in the week, although it wasn't exactly her to whom he came to speak.

"Cadets," he said, not addressing them as a group, but distinctly as a duo.

Aster and Rex shared a surreptitious glance despite her helmet in the way of genuine eye contact—they were getting good at reading each other's expressions by their mouths and nostrils as opposed to the eyes—and saluted uniformly, the former choking on her tongue and so choosing not to speak.

"It's…Surrexit, isn't it," Zack said quietly, dropping to a crouch at the end of the table. He was looking up at them now, and Aster held her hands folded in front of her lips, frightened he might recognise her features up close. But he wasn't even looking at her.

When Rex nodded, Zack's face contorted in a way Aster couldn't understand.

"I don't even know how to say it," said Zack.

Rex cut him off with a light wave and pulled his helmet over his ears. "There's nothing to say. Don't worry about it."

Zack reset his jaw and watched Rex even after he turned his head. Zack's eye twitched slightly before he rose again and gripped Rex firmly on the shoulder. "Alright…" he said, clearly uneasy. "Good to see you again."

Aster watched Zack leave the cafeteria and blew out her held breath. She took off her helmet and set it beside her food tray. "You _know_ each other?"

Rex frowned, tilting his head from side to side but refusing eye contact, deliberating. "Not really. Met him once or twice outside of being here. I guess we have mutual friends."

Aster raised an eyebrow. "Casually having mutual friends with Zack Fair?"

"You jealous?" he said coolly, quirking his eyebrow up identically in response.

"No—_what_?" she spluttered, face reddening much quicker and more violently than she could have anticipated or controlled, panicking briefly that he knew more than he let on. Realising she was just feeding his mischief, she rolled her eyes. "Get out of here."

"_I'd_ be jealous." He sighed mockingly, resting his chin against his hands. "I'm just a small town boy, and Zack's a backwater god."

Aster scowled at him. "_Cute_."

He started to laugh. "Sometimes I swear you're a step away from drooling."

Could her face turn any redder? Turns out it could. And did. "It's not that!" she wailed. "Look, I…I know him outside of a, uh, _Shinra_ capacity." She lowered her voice. "Basically, I've got this other job in the slums—"

"A _second _job?" His jaw almost hit the table._ "_What are you, some kind of masochist?!"

"_SHHH_!" she hissed, lunging across the table to clap a hand over his mouth. The hem of her shirt fell into her tray and soaked in the gravy. Great. They blinked once at each other, then she allowed herself to laugh, albeit weakly, to diffuse the attention being drawn to them. Not like any of the cadets gave a damn what she was doing anyway.

"Point is," she said, slipping back into her seat, "I…help out at a bar sometimes—just so I can get out, you know? That where I met him. And I'd really rather he never find out that piece of information."

"You'll get in trouble," he stated matter-of-factly, wiping his mouth with a napkin. He was such a messy eater.

She pressed her cheek against her helmet and groaned. "More trouble."

"It worth it?"

"Yeah," she said, without missing a beat, lifting her head and revealing a red mark impressed on her face from the helmet. "It's kind of like retrieving part of my old life, you know?"

He looked at her quizzically, and Aster found something in his almond-shaped, hazel eyes that seemed to lean closer to green than brown in the harsh cafeteria lighting that lowered her inhibitions. Trust. She told him she was 'collected' from Icicle Inn, that she wasn't here of her own accord, that she was here because her very life and the lives of those she loved were threatened over it. He hung on her every word, listened, even as the other cadets began to fade from the room and head back to the barracks.

A loaded silence hung in the air, worsened by the empty chairs and tables around them. Rex nodded. "I understand. You were 'recruited'. Like plunder."

"_No_." Her back stiffened, insulted by the phrase. "No, I wanted to be here. This was always a dream of—"

"So you'd be sat here right now, even if the Turks hadn't kidnapped you?"

"I never said I was kidnapped!" she hissed.

He shrugged. "I read between the lines."

She slapped her hands down against the table in defeat. "Alright, fine. I was _trying_ to escape with some kind of dignity intact, but doesn't seem like you'll allow that."

He started to laugh and shook his head. "Self-respect or no, _I _respect ya. Takes guts to be standing here when it's not where you wanna be."

"But Rex," she said, growing exasperated. Her voice came out whispering, pleading. "Don't misunderstand. I _do _want to be here." She looked at her hands, the brown, soft leather gloves that covered them, at her helmet by her side, the eye-like lights staring at her, and sighed. "I was just taken unprepared. This wasn't how I expected things to happen."

"'Taken.'"

She pinched her lips together and narrowed her eyes at him. "Do you even have a point, Rex, or are you actively trying to make me feel like shit?"

He shook his head quickly with widened hazel eyes. "They took you from your home, but you're still here by choice." He smiled. Beamed. "You're stronger than they are."

"Thanks," she mumbled into her chest, staring at her food that had long gone cold. 'By choice' he said. Could she really say she was here by choice even though she was under duress? "Keep it to yourself, okay?"

"As if you need the squad to hate you even more than they already do."

Aster clutched her chest dramatically. "Ugh, you build me up to wound me deep."

"I'm not gonna lie to you," he said, snorting.

"Alright," she said, stretching in her seat and stifling a yawn. "That's my entire recent history. What brings you to Midgar, Wise and Mighty One?"

Rex cocked a one-sided, lazy grin and watched his fork as he twirled it in his fingers. He looked like he was nursing a remnant of some old, fond memory. "The usual stuff, you know? Small lonely kid in a small lonely town with a big dream of making it into SOLDIER."

"Relatable," she said with a smile. "You don't have any siblings, then?"

"Nah," he said, raking his fingers through sandy blonde hair. "All the more reason to get out of town."

* * *

Stage Two of combat training meant increased working hours but a little more freedom for the standard cadets. This translated to being able to go from the mess hall to the barracks unaccompanied, and that was virtually it. Timings were still incredibly strict, so it was merely an illusion of freedom. Aster saw through it, as an outsider, but it must've felt like a real luxury to the others.

Due to that small change, the world expanded. Their paths crossed with newbie grunts from other squads more frequently; the bubble of a vacuum in which they had existed popped. With this came a boosted sense of competition between squads and individuals alike, and the lack of a constant babysitter swelled the egos of others.

Aster had hoped to be partnered with Rex for Hand-to-Hand that afternoon but instead was paired with the youngest recruit of the lot, a boy named Dylan with vibrantly green eyes who was barely fifteen. He was the odd to her even on the leaderboard, and they were paired on that very basis.

The moves were scripted and…easy. Bordering on too easy. As if Tifa could read minds she punished her for the thought. She introduced a difficulty curve so steep that only the very best were able to stand a hope in hell of keeping up to the task.

Rex called Aster a masochist, but there was Tifa stood at the front of a room full of aching, _dying_ recruits with a damning grin on her face. Behind her, a familiar-looking man in a SOLDIER First Class uniform leant against a wall with a clipboard. He was tall and broad with a severe face even when he smiled, and dark, slicked-back hair. His name was Angeal Hewley, and he spoke amiably with Tifa between her instructions.

Aster groaned and rested her hands on her knees in an attempt to snatch a few seconds break, occasionally glancing at her teacher to make sure she wouldn't notice her slacking. She lifted her helmet to wipe her forehead free of sweat and took the time to sweep the room. Rohrbach, the giant, was sparring with Newberry, suggesting Rex had fallen to third or fourth on the board since he was fighting that Huntington kid—hang on, why was she getting caught up in the scoring again? She rolled her eyes and tried to forget about it, returning to her own partner.

"Cadets!" Tifa yelled, then, with everyone's attention on her, she tucked her hair behind her ear sweetly. "Nice work today! Once these tricky manoeuvres are committed to muscle memor—"

The door smashed open into the wall. Half of the cadet-force jumped out of their skin, and Tifa snapped her head towards it, her long hair swinging over her shoulder.

Tseng strode in, flanked by a redhead in an identical suit, but it wasn't Cissnei. It was rather a young man whose wild hair was pushed out of his eyes by a pair of aviation goggles above his forehead. He was cock-sure and arrogant, one hand in his pocket and the other one tapping his stun-baton against his shoulder casually, like he was ready to take a swing at any one of them at any time.

Tifa gritted her teeth judging by the twitch of her jaw. She regarded them gruffly. "Tseng. Reno."

The latter didn't seem to notice her stiff tone. "Mornin'," he drawled.

The room was still and tense until Tifa put her hands on her hips. She narrowed her eyes suspiciously. "Can I help you?"

"Not at all," said Tseng. "I merely need a moment with the recruits before they are dismissed for PT. You are free to leave."

If it was a suggestion or an order, Tifa ignored it, stood rooted to the spot with ruby eyes flashing in anger. Tseng bored her an inky black stare as he passed.

The cadets stood to attention when he stood before them. "Doe," he said. "I gave you chance to reconsider. Which man here doesn't deserve his place? Which man is not up to the task? Incapable, weak?"

An icicle ran through Aster's chest and its chill spread through her bones. Suddenly her tongue was twice the size. She squeezed her eyes shut. _Not again_.

Tifa strode towards him. "Tseng, I must object—"

"Then do so," he said coldly, verging on snapping. He turned an unblinking eye. "Go write a strongly worded letter to Heidegger. Book a meeting."

Tifa's nostrils flared, and lips pinched together. Her cheeks were a few shades redder in her powerlessness, her frustration.

"_Doe_," he said again, and her eyes snapped back open.

Bile fought to rise to her throat, but she swallowed down the feeling and stood in front of spineless, quaking Sparrow once more. This time, she had the decency to look him in the eye, only he didn't meet her gaze.

He stared at his feet, played with his fingers. Beneath his helmet, she could only see the top of his nose and flushed young cheeks. His weaknesses made her uncomfortable. Aster's heart pounded under the strain of so many glares, yet what grew inside her was anger.

She blew a held breath through her nose and shook out her fists. "Sparrow."

"Reason," Tseng said.

Aster widened her peripheral and connected with a pair of blue eyes unknown to her, then brown, grey and green, and although all different, they all carried the same grave, deep darkness of varying degrees of distaste. She folded her arms and looked back at Sparrow.

"He's bottom of the leaderboard, sir, still. Lowest scoring cadet within the squad," she said. "I'm sorry. It's the objective truth, not personal."

"Do not apologise," Tseng said. "I completely agree."

Aster whirled around and snapped, "I wasn't apologising to _you_."

"Get back to your position," he said, ignoring her. She glanced back to Sparrow, trying to catch his gaze but his eyes were firmly fixed to the ground, unrelenting. She wondered if he was crying. The idea made her skin crawl in pity for a moment, before a thought suddenly dawned within her that actually, maybe his tears were of anger or hatred. _That_ she would understand.

Tseng nodded to Reno who wandered through the cadets with a thoughtful pout. He pressed the tip of the stun rod into the sternum of a random cadet. Good job it was off.

"Your turn, yo."

It was Barnhill, Newberry's right-hand man. For a moment he looked flummoxed, but when Reno lifted the baton, his chest grew with the inflation of his sense of self-importance. Must be enjoying the attention since he lived so deeply wedged in the shadow of Newberry's asshole—or maybe Aster was just bitter and contemptuous because she knew what was coming next.

"The princess," he said, so proud of himself, so _full of it_. Aster's eyes nearly rolled back into her head.

"Grounds?" said Tseng.

Then Barnhill's voice returned from the haughty, smug voice he'd used before to something almost genuine. And that hit hard. "Total failure to create bonds with the squad, sir."

Her gaze pulled to her feet before she could stop it. She quickly corrected herself and looked directly at Barnhill, but the damage was done. He seemed content in his decision with a pompous grin, and she couldn't fault him for it. It was perfectly valid. And he probably gave a better reason than her own.

"Shame," Tseng said, silencing the murmurs growing from the mass of bodies. "She's got more potential that all the rest of you fools. A prospective Turk, not a bloodthirsty, thick-skulled grunt. She's a thinking soldier. Better. Smarter. Destined for greater things."

Aster's blood grew hot, her cheeks red, as she glared at him. He stared back, the hint of a smirk on his lips, daring her to break formation and open her mouth so he could swipe it shut again.

The tension pulled and stretched Aster to capacity. She would always be first to snap.

She lurched forward. "What are you trying to d—?!"

Reno cracked his baton into her neck at Tseng's command. Aster choked on her voice, doubling over and clutching her throat, coughing and spluttering to alleviate the dizzying pain. When the black spots faded from her vision, she was on her knees, and Reno was pulling up by the armpit.

"Get up," Tseng ordered. "And the rest of you? You're late for PT. Dismissed."

The cadets filed out in heavy silence, each ready to burst under pressure, all for different reasons. With one last glare from the doorway reserved for Tseng, Aster left the room, with a tug of encouragement to the hand from Rex.

* * *

When each cadet was gone, voices long since trailed down the hallway, Angeal peeled his back from the wall and unfurled his arms. He approached his colleagues. "Is this wise?" he said.

"And what would you know about training for the Turks, Angeal?"

"Nothing," the SOLDIER member said with a deep voice that resonated from his chest. "But I know enough about the mentality of a pack of new soldiers." He narrowed his eyes, maybe not accusatorially, but definitely questioningly. "You are deliberately turning others onto your recruit. You are isolating her."

"It is for the best," said Tseng. He shook his head and his short ponytail swayed behind him. "She is not for the infantry. She is not for SOLDIER. The moment she comes to rely on anybody or anything but herself and her own arsenal of mental defences and strength is the moment we lose the first decent Selective we've had in years."

"Selective, not Candidate," Angeal murmured, with a hint of remorse. "You think this is finally the one, do you?"

Tseng nodded. "I will make it so."

"What are you talking about?" Tifa blurted out, eyes wide with concern. "What does that mean? What have you got planned for her?"

Tseng turned his back and headed outward with Reno. "It's classified."

* * *

Aster didn't go to mess that evening; she hit the gym. She could think of twenty-thousand things she would rather do than go to the gym after an already disgustingly heavy day, including scrubbing the shower room floor with a toothbrush, but this was the only thing she could think of that didn't involve contact with her squad. She couldn't avoid them forever, but she could give it a damn good try.

Tseng had come to expect an explosive reaction from her when she reported for Advanced Driving that evening, for which he was equipped. Instead, she was quiet. Her knuckles were white against the steering wheel all evening, and her posture rigid. Her body tightened in anger.

He observed her as a mechanism over an organism. Quietly assessing the way her brows protruded from her profile from being so tightly furrowed with eyes on the road. The way her lips moved with her speech but she hardly loosened her jaw, and her voice crept out as more of a growl as she gave her steady commentary.

Her anger fed her concentration like he hadn't seen before. Anger that would need harnessing if she were ever to join the infantry or SOLDIER, or in fact, any branch of the military. It was a good job that wouldn't need to happen. She was a tightly wound coil, ready to spring at any given moment, and if it sprang at the _right_ moment, she would be a very dangerous tool indeed.

At the end of the evening, after a night of nigh on silence, Tseng addressed her stewing issues. He said, "So. What are you going to do about it?"

Her jaw twitched as she ground her teeth. "Deal with it."

"Good." And ordered her out.

* * *

Her footsteps echoed in the empty hall as she drew upon the sealed door of the barracks. She stood outside for a moment, basking in the red light above it, then saluted the DI stood beside to allow her entry.

The door opened with a whirr and if she didn't know any better, she'd think the room before her was full of wax models for how still they became. She tried not to hesitate before heading straight to her bed which, thankfully, was closest to the door anyway. Wasn't so bad having the worst bed in the room.

When the general consensus was that she wasn't going to say anything, the rest of the room continued about their business, albeit slightly quieter. She sought Rex's gaze, but he was talking to a few of the others nearby and didn't respond to her eyes boring into the back of his head.

The cot creaked achingly as she sat on the edge and pulled off her boots. She joined many of the others who were currently maintaining upkeep; picking lint off their uniform, shining shoes, sweeping the floor, laundry. She noted absently that Rex's empty bed to her right was all made. _Perfectly_ made, with immaculate boots at the foot and uniform folded for the next day at his bedside table. She wondered when and how he got his life together when hers was in smouldering ruins.

She grabbed her rag and polish from her drawer and worked her boots in silence, buffing out the dirt as if it would iron out the mistakes of the past few weeks. Would it be different if she had chosen not to go out with Melanie and Bryan that fateful day?

No, she thought. Firstly because Tseng would have found her either way and secondly? Not having gone on that hunt for the source of the misery of her people was not an option.

She chewed her lip. Was Icicle Inn okay? It had been over a month now.

A sigh tore out from deep in her lungs as she put down her boots and got up to grab one of the newspapers from the table in the centre of the room. If anything happened in town, maybe it would be documented in the news, or so she hoped.

As she walked back to her bed, eyes scanning the contents of the broadsheet greedily, she almost bumped into Newberry. It took her a minute to register that he was stood at the end of her bed, and longer to realise he had an audience.

She looked up at him disdainfully. His eyes were small, his hair dark and his jaw square. He could be pretty attractive in another life, one where his scowl wasn't so set and his mouth didn't turn down at the edges.

"I don't know who you think you are," he said, low, under the noise of the room around. "But your lack of integrity disgusts me."

"Because you're such an upstanding individual—?"

He hocked up a wad of saliva and mucus and spat it on her freshly cleaned boots.

She sucked in her lips and squeezed them tight between her teeth until the pain couldn't override the anger anymore, staring at the slug-like clump of saliva dribbling down the side of her shoe and onto the floor. She snapped frosty eyes up to his.

He snarled at her. "_I_ don't pick on the weak."

Aster grabbed her boot, holding her every muscle unnecessarily tightly. She stared at it, then him. Watched him as he snorted up a second load and spat on it again.

She bit back the gag she was desperate to give, swallowing as hard as she could against the reflex of repulsion; repulsed by his behaviour or his sneer or both.

Not fighting back hadn't been working.

She wandered into the middle of the room by the table again, holding her boot limply in her hand, high near her head. She found his bed.

"You fucking dare—" he began.

She glared straight into his dark eyes. Her hands trembled. Her chest was tight.

He lunged towards her but froze in the instant that she wiped her boot and all of his horrific sputum all over his pillow. For good measure, she smeared the sole across it, too.

Her eyes were such a pale blue, but they'd never been darker at the very same time.

He bolted for her, shoving the table out of the way, but she drove her shoulder into his chest as Heidegger had once done to her. A bad parallel, if that was a sign of what she was to become. At this point, she didn't care.

She held his glare right up in his face, with flared nostrils and flames in her eyes, and shoved with the best of her strength past him and back to her bed.

Rex shared a look with Matt halfway between awe-struck and freaked the hell out and hurried to his and Aster's corner of the room, pushing past Newberry in his wake. He clamped his hands over her shoulders, but when she looked up at him, her face was so contorted with rage that he virtually fell into his bed behind him. They sat facing each other with their knees apart by only inches. With his hands on her shoulders as they were, she felt like a boxer being coached before the last round.

"Don't think about it," Rex said quickly, quietly, as though if he didn't get the words out quick enough she might do something stupid. Goddess knows where he got that impression. "You did the right thing. Barnhill was just licking arse."

She shook off his hands. "Hell, I know that."

"You were the easiest option." She knew that too. He balled his fists between his knees, curled his neck and grumbled, "Wish Reno'd asked me instead."

"And who would you have picked?"

He thought about this for a moment. "Newberry."

Yes. She understood.


	9. Duty and Friendship

**A/N: Hi hi, friends! Just to let you know next week's update is likely to come slightly later (I usually post sometime in the morning UK time, but its likely to be afternoon/evening) because I have a graded presentation to give next Wednesday morning so…that will be…fun…if I get a good grade anyway. Hope you've had a fantastic week!**

24th Apr '19

* * *

**Chapter 9: Duty and Friendship**

Fine rain poured in sheets from a dark sky. It was the kind of atmospheric rain that soaks from all angles. Tseng had told Aster that she needed to be able to aim and fire despite the weather conditions, and thus began this impromptu training session.

She was laid prone in a small ditch in the dirt behind a short line of sandbags, resting her training rifle against them and aiming carefully and the glowing red centre of the target roughly sixty feet away. When they built Midgar, they laid down only inches of dirt to cover the plate. It was no wonder nothing grew in Midgar. Because of this, the ditch dug in the range was showing the steel beneath the soil, and Aster could feel the cold metal against the skin of her stomach where her shirt had risen. She was connected to Midgar.

She ripped a piece of loose skin from the inside of her lip with her teeth. "There's something I don't understand, Tseng."

Being terse with him since the incident in the training room hadn't been getting her anywhere. Certainly wasn't getting her any answers, and it wasn't going to fix her relationship with her squad, either, so she eventually lost sight of the point and allowed it to dissolve. Not entirely—she was full of contradictions these days—but enough to hold a conversation.

Tseng looked at her. His mannerisms were subtle, she'd learned, but it was his way of telling her to go on. She did. "Why aren't the Turks augmented in the same way that SOLDIER are?"

His dark suit shone under the hefty stadium lights, soaked through, and it hung heavily from him. His short ponytail was shrivelled and his features severe, though the rain didn't seem to perturb him. "Some missions require non-SOLDIER. Covert operations, for example. The eyes would give you away."

Aster pulled the trigger five times, and each time it hit, the red target flashed blue. If there was one thing Tseng had taught her in these short weeks, it was to concentrate on multiple things at once.

"What about when you get too old, or something? Surely, Rude, for instance, would be invaluable in SOLDIER?"

Tseng pulled her up by the shoulder into a kneeling position then shook his head. "Turk defects," he said, then looked at her pointedly, "and Selective rejects, cannot apply for SOLDIER."

"Wait," she said, jerking her upper body to look at him. Her white cadet shirt was more mud than fabric and clung to her skin much like her hair to her face under the rain. "Why not?"

"Because the Turks leave the Turks in a body bag."

A shiver ran up Aster's spine and her finger twitched over her trigger, squeezing it a few times and completely missing her mark. Her hit rate figures fell in response on the electronic, but apparently waterproof, monitor above her target. In a body bag. Did that apply to her, too?

"Pathetic," he muttered. For a moment, Aster thought he was referring to how her heart sank like a stone and wondered how he could tell. "Your practice is horrific—you need to control the weapon. _Squeeze_ the trigger, stop pulling it."

He dragged her up by the collar, forcibly moving her to a standing position and placed a coin on the barrel of her rifle. "If it falls, you've failed. You know what will happen if you fail this course."

Her jaw fell and the rifle sank in her unsteady grip. The coin slipped off immediately, and as she fumbled to pick it from the dirt, Tseng slammed her shoulder blade with the butt of a pistol, eliciting from her a sharp gasp.

She bit hard on her lip and replaced the coin carefully, watching it teeter on her shaking rifle. She couldn't fail.

He gave some kind of sigh that she couldn't place. Was he disappointed in her? Irritated? Something else? "Yes," he said, "The Turks are Turks for the duration of their, however short, lives. Turks-sensitive information as regards the Company cannot be leaked. It is the choice we make."

Something behind her eyes burned. She squeezed the trigger as if it might make the feeling go away, and the coin didn't fall, but her concentration on being gentle overran her focus on aiming. A miss. She tried again and again and again. Just to stop the burning, distract from the ache.

Aster didn't make that choice. The choice was made for her.

Thankfully Tseng didn't await a response.

"Being genetically modified like SOLDIER is like being permanently armed," he said. "And being armed is—"

"—Sometimes unsafer than being unarmed," she quoted numbly, lips moving but eyes fixed on the target.

Tseng looked away. "Exactly. That will make more sense to you one day soon…"

Aster glanced over to him to work out why he trailed off, but when she did, he simply snatched the rifle from her hands and replaced it with the replica pistol he had hit her with instead. She hadn't had a hell of a lot of formal training with handguns yet, but how much harder could it be?

With little guidance, she shuffled into position and narrowed her non-dominant eye, pistol in two hands. Tseng placed the coin above the muzzle. She squeezed the trigger artfully, but her grip was loose. Recoil blasted the gun back into her nose with a sickening crack and a scream when the weapon turned out to be very real and very loaded. She shot out the hit rate monitor in grim irony.

Hot blood splattered from her nose and onto the metal plate in the pit.

"Stupid girl," he growled and snatched the gun from her fingers. "Don't you ever listen to your SAA instructor? _Always _consider your weapon as loaded and _check_." He pointed to the safety catch before flicking it. "Treat every weapon with the respect it deserves lest it carve a dent in your face or a hole in your comrade. There is a fine line between being gentle on the trigger and firm in grasp."

"B-but I thought only the highest scorer gets to wield a real gun!" She cried out, cradling her nose and failing to contain the blood spill within her fingers. "I assumed—!"

"Assumption is death," he said and shook his head. "You are dismissed. Despite your idiocy rearing its ugly head again…you did relatively well."

She croaked, "Thanks…?"

* * *

Aster endured stares while snatching a clean top and jeans from her locker and slamming it shut. Blood slid from both nostrils and she smeared it across her t-shirt—it was already bloody and soaked so what did it matter? If nothing else her filthy, sodden state proved she wasn't just relaxing while the others had drill every evening.

As she left, she felt Newberry's narrowed eyes against her skin.

Aster knocked on the door to Tifa's apartment. Tifa had her bar and someplace to live bottomside of the plate in Sector Seven but, being a Shinra employee, also held tenancy of a small apartment topside Sector Five, not far from the infantry and SOLDIER accommodation, nor far from the cadet training campuses and main HQ building.

Aster wondered who manned the bar when they weren't around, but she supposed Tifa must have quite a few staff considering she, too, had two jobs. One of their many things in common.

Tifa had asked her to come over when she was done for the evening and thankfully, by some stroke of luck, it was only eight-thirty, not ten or midnight or something stupid like usual. Maybe Tseng had felt bad about her nose and let her off. Unlikely.

Upon opening the door, Tifa blinked as though to clear her vision. "Goddess—what the hell happened to your face?"

Aster grinned with a guilty look in her eye as Tifa shook her head and let her in. The apartment was exactly as Midgar topside living was always hyped up as being. The ceilings were high and the windows were perfect cutouts of the skyline beyond, like wall art. The room was pristine, which Aster completely expected of her tidy friend, but there weren't many adornments or personal possessions around. A TV remote sat on top of a magazine on the coffee table, but that was pretty much it for clutter. The place looked virtually inhabited, like a show home or hotel. Aster figured Tifa didn't spend much time here. The messiest part of the room became where Aster kicked off her boots near the door.

Tifa placed her hands on her hips and gave a stern look. "The _face_?" Uh oh. Mom voice.

"To be fair," she began, ducking into the bathroom briefly to change her shirt and pants. She called through the door, "it was totally my fault."

"It's not broken is it?"

"Don't think so," Aster said, appearing from the bathroom, wiping her bloodied upper lip on a cleanish corner of her cadet top.

"You know," Tifa said with a wry smile, "I'm starting to think all this comes with the territory of knowing you."

Aster snorted, dropping her dirty clothes on the floor near the couch and flopping down on it. "Makes for some good stories."

"What was it this time?" Tifa asked. She sat on a contemporary armchair with wooden, spindly legs that scuffed against the floorboards.

"Um. Bad weapon handling."

"Rookie mistake," Tifa said, with half a laugh.

A silence bloomed between them. Aster peeled her gloves off and stared at the borrowed watch and bracelet sitting together, aware of the way Tifa was gazing at her own hands before she sucked in her lip and spoke.

"I wanted to know what you know about…" She trailed off, unable to place the right words. "I just wondered if everything was okay after Tseng and Reno's stint in class the other day."

"Oh." Right. That. Aster pulled her hair from the tangled bun on her head and raked her fingers through it, attempting to abate the rain-induced frizz. Buying time, but Tifa's concerned gaze didn't let up.

Eventually, Aster straightened her neck and confidently said, "He's testing me. Everything is a test, and I have to pass. If I don't pass—" She stopped herself and rolled her eyes towards the window. If she didn't pass, they'd take Danny, her younger brother, and place him through the same ordeal she'd been through up until this point. She shrugged, as though she had no weight on her mind. "If I don't pass, bad things happen."

Tifa shifted in her seat. Her lips twisted. "But what if you _do_ pass?"

Placing Tifa's expression was hard. It didn't make sense that she'd be concerned about Aster _passing_, of all things. She sniffed. "They said they have a test for me and if I do a good job, they'll make me a member of the Turks where I can…work on some task, like a project, I guess."

She was a bit confused, herself, but at some point during all the put-downs and insults from Tseng and cadets alike, she realised she _wanted_ to make it, just to rub it in their faces. But…_the Turks leave the Turks in a body bag_. Tifa didn't look appeased, so Aster called her out on it. "…What?"

"It's nothing," she said, leaning her elbows against her knees. "Tseng and Angeal were talking about you. I think maybe they meant that task you mentioned."

"Really?"

"Yeah. Didn't say much though. Said it was classified." Tifa tapped her cheek. "I won't lie, it didn't sound great."

Aster watched the second hand on her watch beat thrice, resolve wavering with each pulse. "What they put me through now is in preparation for whatever it is they've got in store for future me," she said, unsure whether she was lying to herself or not. "I hope I'll be ready."

Tifa sucked a deep breath through her nose and smiled. "I hope so, too."

There was a knock at the door that stopped Aster's heart. Tifa trotted over without a sound thanks to her puffy socks that were slightly too large and slipped around her ankles. She pressed a wine-red eye to the peephole.

"_Uh_—do I hide?!" Aster hissed, painfully aware of the punishments exacted upon cadets out after curfew. Sure, she didn't _have_ a curfew in the same way the others did, but she still sure as hell wasn't supposed to be hanging out with friends when not with the Turks.

"Somehow I don't think you'll want to," she said, a smile teasing her voice. She swept open the door smoothly. "Hey, Zack."

"Hey, Teef! You got a minute?"

"Yeah, come in."

He stepped through the door and his eyes met Aster's.

She stifled the look of horror, but its ghost still haunted the smile she offered in its place. Now, this felt weird. This was her commander, made stark and clear since he stood before her in his uniform very much on duty. If she'd been trying to ignore that fact in the bar, this made it impossible. The ribbed knit of his famous black turtleneck clung to the shape of his body beneath the leather belt stamped with the elusive crest of SOLDIER. His shoulders rested hidden beneath iron and leather guards, hands gloved, but the rest of his arms were free for her to try not to stare at.

She pinched her lips together tightly, ashamed of her unmade-up face and damp hair, face growing red—she could feel it. But, hey, at least she had changed out of her uniform. That would have been a bit of a giveaway.

"Aster—sorry, I didn't know you'd be here," he said, scratching the back of his head. His hair, usually weightless, laid flatter due to rain. He, on the other hand, struggled with the switch from being in work-mode to being thrust unexpectedly into the presence of a girl he knew strictly out of work, and better for it.

But to Aster, he just sounded disappointed, and she tried her best not to let it sting. "Don't worry about it." She jumped to her feet and subtly kicked her sodden uniform under the couch and out of sight. "I'll, uh, go in the kitchen."

"Nah, it's all good. S'nothin' important," he said, releasing his sword from his holster and resting it against the wall. It was freaking enormous, not much shorter than Aster was, really. A two-handed brute with the SOLDIER emblem embossed on the brassy cross-guard.

Tifa closed the front door with a slim eyebrow raised, then drew back towards the living area and plopped back into her weird little modern armchair. "What's up, Zack?"

He threw himself into the couch next to Aster who awkwardly perched back on her seat. "Basically, Angeal said there're some issues in squad D?" he said, pulling a face.

Aster's chest tightened. Oh_. She_ was in squad D.

"He's sent me to do his runnin' around to all of the instructors to tell you guys to keep an eye out and adjust their SOLDIER constitution records accordingly." He shrugged, and his lower lip jutted slightly in a pout. "I've been around 'em. They seemed fine to me."

Aster passed Tifa a surreptitious glance, but the older girl didn't notice. She just sighed and shook her head. "Zack, that's because you're in SOLDIER; of course they behave around you. They all think they've got giant balls until someone like you walks past and they realise, you know, they aren't a big fish in a small pond, they're a newt in an ocean."

Zack started snickering profusely. "This the kinda motivational speech you give in your classes?"

Tifa laughed. "Some of them need knocking down a peg or two!"

Aster smiled casually but picked at her cuticle and chewed the innards of her cheek. She wondered if she fell into that category of individuals. Maybe. Definitely, if you asked certain members of the squad.

"Yeah, I guess I get that. It's always like this though." Then Zack addressed Aster directly. "Last year I had this batch of recruits that used to punch each other up every time the instructors weren't looking. We had to get a DI to keep guard _inside_ their room."

So the situation could be worse.

"Oh, I remember them," Tifa said with a touch of alarm. "They were my first ever trainees. Let's hope squad D doesn't degrade to that."

But it could _get_ worse.

Aster laughed weakly, voice betraying her. "Sounds like you guys have your work cut out for you…!"

Zack waved his hand passively. "It's not too bad. They graduate from basic in like a month. Oh yeah! That reminds me!" he said, physically turning to face Aster on the couch, knee near her hip. "I wanted to ask y—is your nose bleeding?"

Her eyes widened, and she covered her nose. She thought she'd wiped it all away, but sure enough, blood still clung to her nostrils.

"Hey, let me see," he said, pulling her wrists out of the way. "Your nose is swollen. Are you alright?" Then, his back stiffened with an ugly conclusion and his eyes flicked back to hers, wide with concern. "It literally looks like you got punched in the face. Is someone giving you trouble or something?"

"N-no—it's nothing like that. It was just an accident."

For what it was worth, _that_ wasn't a lie.

"Can I heal you? I'm no white mage," he said, still holding her wrists as if they were made of glass, but lowering them against his knee, "but this is no problem."

She hardly breathed her response as he took off his gloves, leaving her staring at her fingers against the fabric of his SOLDIER combat pants, the warmth of his skin emanating from beneath them. Her mouth turned dry, but she didn't notice until he cupped her chin to tilt her head back. The fingers of his free hand hovered above her nose, and she couldn't stifle the breath that shuddered from her lips and tickled his wrist.

His fingers glowed a seafoam green as a soft light shimmered over her nose and lips. The sensation made her giggle, the quelling of the dull ache, the feeling of warmth and prickling that made her want to sneeze and scrunch up her nose as her wounds knitted themselves together.

"Better?"

"Great," she said, breathily.

His smile grew into a victorious grin of its own accord. "You're blushing."

"I am not."

"Are too."

"It's your imagination," she said with the roll of her eyes but flushed further regardless of her words.

He laughed outright and slipped his fingers from her chin. A cold wind replaced his presence, but it was warm indoors. Her skin both seared and shivered in his wake.

"Crap," he muttered when his PHS vibrated with an incoming message. "I gotta go, Still got a couple more DIs to get to and 'Geal is gonna kill me."

"Right—sure," she said, awareness suddenly slapping her in the face and reminding her to, albeit reluctantly, pull her hands away from their rest against his knee. Her chest bloomed in flames of embarrassment. She stood up quickly. "Thank you, by the way."

"No worries. Stay outta trouble, hear?" he said, pointing at her with a smirk.

She smiled and clasped her hands behind her back. "No promises there!"

"Didn't think so," he said, grinning impishly and grabbing his gloves. "Later, Teef. Speak to 'Geal if you wanna know more—he's got more to do with squads C and D than I do."

Tifa pointedly put down her magazine and kicked her legs off the coffee table—no, she hadn't been reading it. She merely had picked it up to blend into the background while she watched her two friends with peeping eyes over the top of the pages. It wasn't subtle and it didn't need to be. They probably wouldn't have noticed her any single action, unless she'd literally sat between them.

"Sure, Zack," she said. "Thanks for the message."

"No prob," he said, seeing himself to the door and grabbing the hilt of his sword. He hesitated as he reached the door handle and gestured to the military-issue boots on the floor. "Uh, Teef? Whose are these?"

Before Aster could choke on her water, Tifa's calm control took over. The girl could have been an actress in another life, seriously. "Oh, Cloud was here earlier."

"They're Cloud's? Really?" Zack took a second look at them and furrowed his brow. Scratching his head, he said, "He's got some damn tiny feet. Later, ladies."

The door closed behind him.

"Hooooly frickin' mother of…" Aster deflated into the couch with a huge sigh into her hands, and Tifa stood over her with a knowing expression holding her features. "_Crap_. I need to be _so_ much more careful."

A small smirk overtook Tifa's lips. "Yeah, I won't always be there to pick up the pieces, right?"

"Hey, I'm learning from a champ in the meanwhile."

Tifa folded her arms, her smirk growing to a grin. She was biting back words from spilling out her mouth. Aster raised an eyebrow, slowly folding her arms to mirror her friend's. "…What?"

"We gonna ignore the elephant in the room?" Tifa said, and for a moment Aster heard Barret's inflections.

She feigned ignorance with pink cheeks. In response, Tifa held back the two-hundred things she wanted to say to tease the younger girl and instead remained as elegant and in control as ever.

"Aw. Cute," she said, grinning and flopping down into the couch with a soft thump. "But you know, you don't need to take off your gloves to cast magic."

Aster's face grew redder by the second—as much as she tried to pretend anything otherwise. Tifa broke into a grin. "I'm willing to bet he just wanted an excuse to touch you."

Aster's fingers found themselves gently tracing where his had been before them.

* * *

"You still up?"

"_You're_ still up? Why?" Aster whispered incredulously to Rex in the bed next to her later that evening. He didn't really respond, but by the sound of his sheets, he had shrugged. She couldn't see him through the darkness, except for a faint red glow from the locked door. If she could have seen, she might have noticed the sweat across his brow, and if she had gotten close enough, she might have heard his pounding heart. A nightmare?

She'd been tossing and turning for two hours, completely restlessly, churning over the day again and again and again. Her conversation with Tseng twisted her stomach, then the image of Zack's face lit by his Cure spell tugged somewhere in her chest, and the whole thing looped continuously, ad infinitum. It was like a rollercoaster with awful lows and glorious highs.

"Well, since you're awake, you might as well have these now," she said, digging her hand down the side of her mattress and slapping a retrieved packet of sweets onto Rex's face.

"Mmffff—" He spluttered to get the plastic off his mouth and felt around his face from the antagonistic wrapper with which she had appeared to have attacked him. "Whazzis? Ooo, mate! Gummy bears!"

"_Shhh!"_

"You legend!" he crowed.

"Shut _up_, Rex!" She hissed as loudly as she dared. "You'll wake the entire compound!"

He wrestled with the packaging even louder than he had spoken. Aster facepalmed in the dark. Through her fingers, she mumbled, "Anyway…can I talk to you?"

"Dude, you gave me freaking gummy bears, I'll give my _soul_ to you. Where'd you get these?"

"Tifa's—look that's not important—"

"—Aren't you up at like, four hundred hours tomorrow?"

"Please don't remind me."

"You are one crazy broad."

"Don't remind me that, either."

The packaging split straight down the middle, throwing gummy bears all over his bed after a frenzied attempt to get into them. "Do you know what?" he said, gesturing a sweeping motion to the candies covering his sheets, "I am okay with this."

She tried her best to stifle her laughter. She already felt better. "Listen, I heard that basically our squad is getting put under the microscope since there've been some, um…issues," she said, exaggeratedly pronouncing 'issues' incorrectly for effect.

"Newberry?" Rex mouthed. In the dark. Aster made out what he was implying only after he repeated the action four or five times for clarity, leaning over the space between their beds to increase her chance of seeing.

She shrugged looking uncertainly into his eyes. "Or me."

He nodded and collapsed back on his bed. "Could be. Depends on perspective."

"You're right," she said, nodding to herself. He was honest. Blunt. Kind of what she needed. A bringer of truth no matter the cost—someone she could trust to tell her how it was, not what either of them _wanted_ to hear. "I wanted you to know. I don't want you getting dragged up in whatever crap I cause."

"Where's the fun in that?"

She scoffed loud in the dark, but probably whisper quiet if in daylight. "Are you ever serious?"

"I've had enough seriousness in my life to last me a while." He chucked a handful of gummy bears in his mouth, juxtaposing the weight of his words. This kind of junk food was forbidden in basic training. Apparently, he loved every second of breaking the rules. "If I can, I'd always rather lift the mood."

"Aw," she said, falsely. "Little ray of sunshine that you are."

"Well, some of us have to counter The Cynical and The Sarcastic in this world."

"That was a pointed statement and I feel attacked."

He laughed. "If you take offence then you're just accepting it as the truth."

"Geez," she said, mockingly, tucking her arms behind her head. "Hitting me with the hard stuff at one hundred hours."

"If you want—"

"—_Not_ what I meant."

He grinned up at the ceiling for no one's benefit but his own. The darkness wasn't as lonely with someone to share it with. Lowering his voice to a record level of sincerity, he said, "Don't worry. We're gonna wade through this shit."

He took it that she nodded only by the shuffling of her pillow, but she couldn't respond, because how could she get past a body bag? And if she did get through it, what then? Stay in the Turks for the rest of her life?

The end of the road was a body bag in the best case scenario and in worst.

But she'd make damn sure they'd never seen a Turk like her in the meantime.

This she could come to terms with. It was no good traipsing around like she was being led. Might as well at least start faking it. It was time to stop being forced into a victim position and start being her own hero. Can't protect anyone without protecting yourself first.

Yet she still laid awake. Even after Rex fell back into encumbered sleep. If everything was a test, how badly was she failing? Was she reacting incorrectly? Were they looking to observe other behaviour? Was she thinking about it too much?

The lattermost was the only one she had a definitive answer to: yes.

But Rex was right. They were gonna wade through this shit, and eventually, they'd come out the other side. And hopefully, they'd be better for it.


	10. Breaking and Exiting

**A/N: Hey! UPDATE: Next Wednesday's update might not be on time. Slash at all. I might opt to either update on maybe the Friday or potentially even the following Wednesday. I'm sorry! It's already written, but I do a lot of editing before uploading, and I just don't know if I'll have time to do all of that and prep for my exams. I had one today (which went…**_**interestingly**_**…) and have five more to go over the next two weeks. So, I'm really sorry about that, but I will definitely try my best to get it up anyway. Thank you so much to everyone reading this, honestly. I know I say it with like nearly every single update, but it's really cool to think that you guys are enjoying what I absolutely love doing. And it's nice to have something to distract me from my exam stress! **

**I'm a mess! Have a beautiful week (or two) and I'll leave you on this corker, where shit starts to get **_**real**_**.**

1st May '19

* * *

**Chapter 10: Breaking and Exiting**

"As long as she's indebted to you," a feminine voice with a dirty husk said, "you'll probably come outta this with a valuable asset. If she trusts you, and to an extent, you trust her, maybe she'll be useful to us."

"It sits uncomfortably, though."

"It's a means to an end! Man, you'd make a terrible Turk."

"You're right there."

"Remember why you're doing this," the girl said, "and you're doing a great job, risking your life like this. But anyway. Ultimately, you're making a friend, and if she joins our cause? More power to us."

"Yeah…"

* * *

Training had become just that much tougher. Hand-to-hand got more brutal and the targets drew further away in Skill at Arms. PT was as rough as ever, and to boot, Aster's Turks sessions were getting longer and longer until she was hardly permitted any personal time in the evenings. Some days she wasn't even permitted meal times.

Sleep deprivation and starvation. That settles it. Tseng was trying to kill her. That was the only explanation.

The morning had seen the recruits battling with pugil sticks—long poles with padding at either end—in a pit of mud which was equal parts exhausting and entertaining. Tensions amongst the squad had been high, especially with the increased number of eyes on them of late, and bludgeoning each other with giant padded poles, gladiator-style in pre-determined and therefore blessedly indiscriminate one-on-one brawls, was a decent way to let off suppressed steam.

The dull thudding and smacking of the plastic batons against a hard helmet or body were sick and satisfying. Minor arguments held between recruits were taken up in the pugil fight and let go soon thereafter. Aster wished she could settle her disputes with Newberry so easily. That, though, would involve speaking to him, and she was far too proud for that.

The cadets formed two large concentric circles in a pit of thick, wet mud. After each match, the inner circle rotated clockwise and the outer counter-clockwise. It would turn when one of each pair hit the dirt.

In the centre of the circle was a tractor tyre, half-sunken. It was from here that the instructors observed, including their supervising member of SOLDIER, Angeal. At six-foot-four or so, he was already an imposing figure and didn't really need the extra foot from which he gained standing on the rim of the tyre. He appeared to be a man of few words but instilled some level of calm, unstrained control over the vicinity, as opposed to fear leading to violence, which was a good job given all the testosterone flying around the field.

Aster's favourite battle had been against Rex, the first battle where she felt she could actually talk to the person stood in front of her. Or yell at.

But to be fair, he was the one who started the trash-talking.

"What's an ice skater gonna do to a hunk like me?" He shouted over at her, flexing dramatically and grinning amongst other taunts.

"Are you _kidding_?" she shrieked, for a moment taking the bait. "Ice skating takes some damn strength. I could choke you with my thighs."

"Is that an offer?"

"_No_, it's a threat!"

"Doesn't sound like a threat to me!"

She shoved a finger in her mouth to fake gag and immediately regretted this poor decision when the taste of dirt overwhelmed her senses. "I'm gonna make you suck mud, dumbass."

"Bring it on!" He yelled with a dark grin, swinging his pugil stick into a more offensive grip.

Aster charged at him on the instant of the whistle. She lunged to jab the pole straight into his chest which he deflected easily and sturdily. The recoil after the connection left her gut open, but he didn't go for the stab. Instead, he swiped the pad up towards her face and into her block.

She shoved him back with a thrust and jabbed for his lower abdomen. It would have been a dirty trick if not for all the padding and protection provided to preserve the jewels of the cadet force. Didn't stop him calling her out on it though.

Through laughs and mud splattering surrounding them—and also the sound of howls and grunts and swearing and impacts in the air—the Unfortunate One of each pair started to hit the deck and their partners crowned victorious.

Aster stumbled backwards after a well-placed smack into the pole of her pugil stick when the mud sucked her foot up to the ankle. Once again he avoided the stomach. He swept low, but Aster recovered her balance and used the momentum to swing the cushioned slab into the side of his helmeted head and send him sprawling into the mud.

"OFFICIALLY SUCKING IT!" She screeched, lofting her weighted baton high above her head like a champion's belt after a wrestling match.

Rex dragged himself up to his knees, scraped a cup of mud from his face and slopped it back to the ground. He waved his hand at her. "You are actually insufferable when you win stuff, do you know that?"

With a grin of mud-splattered cheeks, she took his proffered hand and yanked him up and out of the clutches of muck that had swallowed his knees and shins. He rolled his eyes good-naturedly in response and grabbed her in a quick hug that consisted of essentially the colliding of her face into his shoulder and a slap on the back before the circles turned to a new opponent.

When faced with the smallest and weakest of the group, the one to which she had already inflicted the most pain, her smile fell flat off. She had tried to catch herself, but it was too late; he had already seen her face fall.

"Hey, Sparrow," she called, as jovially as she could muster, but the added enthusiasm to persuade him that she was genuine came off as false and turned even her stomach. Newberry, to Sparrow's left, rolled his eyes out of his head and clamped his jaw, but otherwise didn't interact.

If Sparrow did indeed misconstrue her intentions, he didn't raise alert to it. "Hi, Doe."

Adjusting her stance to something vaguely offensive she awaited the whistle. She wasn't going to go easy on him just because she'd called him out on being the lowest scorer a couple of times. She didn't want to insult him that way, nor exacerbate the situation. They were of relatively equal height and stature and maybe strength, too—or maybe Aster took the edge there from all of her extra training. If the roles reversed, this is how she would want to be treated. Equally. Go no easier on Twenty-Four—no, Twenty-One after the losses to the Unhinger—than she would number One. Besides. She wanted to win. Losing to Twenty-One would be _humiliating_.

The whistle sang, and she jerked forward, but in a split second before impact, both Aster and Sparrow instantly froze at the gutting, wet, thunk from beside them.

The boy Newberry was opposing had already smacked the ground. It was so loud and so fast that both Aster and Sparrow had completely lost concentration on each other and shot identically horrified looks to the unlucky victim.

The boy sank about a foot into the mud, quite possibly with his back against the steel of the plate beneath, and yelled excitedly from his crater. "Bloody hell, Jack, that was epic!"

Aster swallowed and looked back to her opponent. But she was distracted. Newberry had just ripped that boy straight off his feet_ in one hit_.

It was only when Sparrow approached with a jab of his own that Aster snapped out of her daze, blocking much too forcefully for the strength he'd used and swinging for the side of his head.

He cowered under his pugil stick, using it as a shield, and pushed her away before barraging her with an array of swift thrusts, but what he gained in speed he lost in power, and she was able to stave him away. It forced her into playing extremely defensively, though. He was undeniably keeping her prisoner. While defending, blocking his rapid swings, she was utterly unable to make her own strike.

She hummed affirmatively. "Persistent."

To break the stalemate, she blocked low, ducked under his next stab and drove her weight into a jab to the chest. The blow to his balance knocked him into the dirt on his behind.

Newberry's eyes bored holes into her cheeks, but she didn't grant them the gratification of her attention. "Good match," she said, hearing but denying the traces of awkwardness like stagnant air in her voice.

"Thanks. That was a clever thing you did, pre-empting me," Sparrow said quietly beneath the thudding of surrounding fights, but it was likely that he was just soft-spoken, anyway. "I'll have to watch out for that next time."

"Your assault was good though. I could barely move—"

"—Ugh, don't patronise him."

She snapped her head to the boy who had just been destroyed by Newberry, his shirt heavy and hanging by the weight of the sludge. "I wasn't—"

But he walked off without awaiting her response. She turned back to where Sparrow had been but now stood Newberry in his place, glaring daggers as had become the usual. Sighing, she moved out of the way of Newberry's next opponent and over to her own, Rohrbach. She remembered all too clearly—kind of ironically, given how blurry her vision had become at the time—her last encounter with the boy only six months or so her junior. With a sigh, she braced herself for the imminent barrage of attacks.

Her chest was heaving and sweat mingled with the mud on her neck, and sharp aches were beginning the claw themselves through her muscles from the weight of the pugil stick.

The boy was enormous, well over six foot even at a relatively young age; he loomed along with the treetops with those like Angeal and that angry man Barret that Aster had met in Seventh Heaven. But then she considered that Rohrbach had neither an enormous sword on his back nor a cannon connected to his elbow, and remembered that he was as much a human among humans as she was, and not some kind of higher being just because he was number one on some arbitrary scoreboard. But she totally wasn't bitter, or anything.

The instructor blew the whistle.

On the beat, she bounced back a few steps to force Rohrbach to overstretch and weaken some of the blow. She batted it away and held her stick low and ready to snap it up to defend her face. The back and forth ate at her stamina.

He stabbed for the stomach which she blocked stably, heels digging into the mud. He lifted his weapon for a devastating overhead swing, but Aster was quicker and swiped her baton into his exposed abdomen. Recoiling from the blow, he crashed the pugil stick into her bent state, cracking into her back, taking advantage of the opening she gave him in a moment of thoughtlessness. The impact surged through her spine and down to her knees. She buckled but didn't give.

She swung upwards with a crack into his chin, but he was tough and recovered as quickly as ever. He slammed into her block with such force that her wrists screamed and released on reflex to protect themselves from snapping—or that was what it felt like—knocking the weapon clean from her hands. It stuck upright in the mud. With the shift of his body weight, he connected the padding firmly with the side of her head, sweeping her body from her feet and slamming her face-first into the mud.

She lay there for a moment like a starfish, some kind of unfortunate, messier version of a snow angel she might have made when she was a kid. Kinda stunned. Kinda awestruck. Kinda _embarrassed_.

Strangled laughter escaped her although no one would have heard her so deep in the dirt. They'd only have seen her shoulders and back rattling and lurching. Could have thought she was crying. The indignity of which would have torn her ego to shreds.

A hand reached into the sludge to grab her shoulder and another under her ribs; Rohrbach yanking her from muddy clutches. It clung to her, grasping every inch of skin and clothing, wet and sloppy. Thanking him, she clawed clumps of mud from where her eyeballs used to be and wiped it against her combat pants. The ones that _used_ to be blue.

"You look as fresh as a freakin' spring chocobo chick," she said. It was a bit of an overstatement, but it was clear that the only dirt on his clothing was there as a consequence from the splashing of footwork and collision of dirt-caked pugil sticks. "Has _anyone_ knocked you down?"

He shook his head.

"Not even Newberry? Rex?"

"Didn't face either of 'em," he said flatly in a heavy accent.

"Damn," she muttered, then met him with a skeptical blue eye. "You human?"

"Last I checked," he said with a shrug and a general air of nonchalance. Under his mighty brow and set face, Aster wondered if maybe he just came off as moodier than he really was, just because his face was naturally inclined that way.

The instructor—insultingly clean compared to the cadets surrounding him—from his position stood on the tyre barked, "Inner circle versus outer circle. Inner to my left, outer to my right, behind the lines, NOW!"

The recruits shot to their respective positions as Angeal and the DI alongside him stepped just outside of the mud pit to a safe distance. Aster and her team of Inner Circlers made up the middle ten of the leaderboard and the Outer Circlers comprised of the top five and bottom four.

The instructor boomed, "The team that gets that tyre over their line gets to go to lunch. The team that does not make it over their line spends lunch in PT after washing the shit off all these uniforms, do you understand me?"

"Yes, Staff!"

Angeal alongside him looked mildly amused with arms folded across his chest. He watched his colleague lift a starting pistol in the air. "Ready?"

BANG.

* * *

And so that was how Aster came to lose her lunch that day in particular. Turned out that the middle ten couldn't beat the top five and bottom four after all, although that could very well have been influenced by the raucous laughter that was erupting from the majority of what had essentially become a giant pile on in the middle of a sludge pit. It was meant to be like tug-of-war...but was more like mud wrestling. It was a bonding exercise despite its base in competition, and Aster wondered how many activities like this she had missed, and if that had any bearing on why she was finding it so hard to fit in.

She suspected there were a few reasons for that though.

So, while she daydreamed of the well-earned lunch that Rex was getting to enjoy in her absence, she was performing squats with another recruit across her back in a fireman's carry while an instructor screamed in her face, spittle flying everywhere.

They were gifted with the blessing of ten minutes to shower before hitting Hand-to-Hand with Tifa for the afternoon.

A recruit approached her jovially. Politely, but a smidge too informally, and asked her to easy on them after the exhausting day they'd already had. Aster was certain by the smile on her friend's lips that Tifa was going to ramp up the session from one hundred and ten percent, the usual standard, to one hundred and fifty percent in spite. Boy, was she wrong. Two-hundred percent was more like it.

Bodies ached all around as Tifa inflicted nothing short of punishment upon the recruits. She introduced a full burst of speed training in the shape of agility drills and two million beep tests, each harder than the last.

Aster forced herself to only think cone by cone because if she considered how many laps she had left to go and how much harder she'd have to work to get within the beep time, she'd have fallen into a weeping heap in the corner of the room already. The insides of her thighs screamed raw at the burn, sweat ran from her face, and she wasn't the only one groaning in pain.

When she briefly looked up while adjusting her helmet she saw Tifa in deep conversation with Angeal. Scribbling something quickly on one of the three clipboards she was hastily shuffling through, Tifa stepped forward.

"Cadets!" She said, pushing the stop button on the dreaded beeping machine—Aster could still hear it going in her head—and pacing to the front of the room with the grace that only total command of muscle in the body could give. "Good footwork. You need to apply this level of control over every movement in battle."

"Before it started to really burn, anyway," she tagged on with a devilishly dark grin. She reeled off a new set of instructions, demonstrating an exercise with her glamorous assistant, Angeal, involving focus sparring and lateral shuffling.

Tifa's demonstration was beautiful, in some kind of horrifying way. It was as perfect as one would expect from someone who had practiced her art for three-quarters of her life, connecting her feet, knees and elbows to the target pad wherever Angeal held it for her, spinning in some kind of violent ballet.

"You need to be facing your partner at all times," she said with just a trace of breathlessness, her hair twirling into her face at her quick stop. She pulled it away from her lips. "Understood?"

"Ma'am."

The lights flickered off. Tifa furrowed her brow and stared up at one of the lightbulbs. It was silent for a moment, an eerie calm.

"_Actual causality. Actual causality. HQ security breach, repeat, HQ security breach. This is not a drill. Central to Training and SOLDIER Floor._"

An emergency lamp bloomed in red, and a wailing siren accompanied it.

Aster flinched at the noise and flicked her eyes from the lamp to Tifa, to Angeal, to the door as it buckled against a shock that rattled the floorboards. She froze to her place. Angeal ripped his sword from against the wall—a standard steel model just like Zack's, despite the beast that hung from his back—and brandished the blade in wait. Licked by red light.

Fear and anticipation that jittered the nerves of the cadet force could almost be confused with excitement. It rippled through the room like an electrical current, stunning each man and one woman in turn, ramping up the heart rates that were shaking the floor. Wait—_the floor was literally shaking._

The intercom blared orders, demanding support for the instructors on the training floors. But Tifa barked her own laws, snapping because they hadn't time to wait for back-up. The door bulged under a second, louder collision.

Tightening the straps on the wrists of her gloves, she took up a stance a good space between the door and the recruits. "Line up! Rohrbach, Surrexit and Newberry behind Angeal and I—rest of you, filter in rows according to ranking!"

The sound of metal stretching pierced the air as a huge impact crater formed in the door under the weight of the ram on the other side. Angeal booted the dent, and it cracked back into place with a bang, and a scream from the other side of the door suggested he'd hit something. And it didn't sound human.

Aster couldn't help but jerk towards Tifa. "I want to help!"

"Get back in position. I need my best," Tifa said, uncharacteristically sharply, her head duly in business. She commanded to the room, "Four to six take reserve for one to three! The rest of you, stay out of the way!"

Pride smarting, Aster stepped back, gritting her teeth in frustration, but Tifa grabbed her arm with a grip so tight it hurt and yanked her back toward her. "You're six. Get over there!"

Aster's eyes widened infinitesimally as the boiling of her pride settled into a simmer—sixth—and nodded. She took her place not too far behind Newberry. If he had less than an ounce of professionalism, he would have stuck his fingers up at her. Good thing he didn't because Aster hadn't the capacity to take it laying down.

The door burst from its support at the fourth impact. The clatter thereafter drowned out the sound of the alarm but didn't mask the screaming of the beasts from beyond it as they charged into the room.

Lunging through the door were canine beasts with crimson-red, mask-like faces and yellow tusks that curled out from the sides of their jaws. Bared lips showed fangs and otherwise human teeth, and green ribboned tongues dripping with blood and saliva. She could place their names—they were Foulanders, and they were in the monster encyclopaedia from Tseng. The _Wutaian_ encyclopaedia. A knot pulled in Aster's chest. This was bad.

The first beast launched at Rex. Tifa lunged into it, driving her fist up into its gut and knocking it straight into the wall. Its whimpers were shrill, but it stood once again, and a barrage of oversized bugs swarmed into the room at the call.

Angeal carved his sword in an arc through the wall of beetles, each the size of a watermelon at least, smattering the floorboards with blood and carcasses. With the common sense to stay out of the way of swords, Rex and Rohrbach lunged towards a Foulander that got past Tifa and Angeal at the front, while Newberry aided Tifa.

It was a bloodbath. Slashing and punching and kicking and yelling and the incredible sound of a sword slicing through the air and dragging against bone. A Foulander bit into Rex's arm with blunt teeth, piercing, crazed blue eye staring into its victim. With a disgusted yelp, Rex kneed the dog in the throat, and Rohrbach socked it in the side of the head with a well-placed punch. It screeched and launched for the latter's throat with jagged circular saws for claws. Rex threw his weight into it to shove it from its trajectory. It was clumsy, but it worked.

The beast landed a few feet away, digging its claws in the wood to come to a stop. A ball of energy, a small sun, gathered between its tusks, and Tifa tackled the dog to the ground, forcing the fire spell to miss and smash into the ceiling. Rex and Rohrbach cowered under their arms beneath the small explosion and debris as Tifa rolled to recover and slammed a model roundhouse into the Foulander's chest. Its back splintered the mirror like a spiderweb before it collapsed to the floor.

Aster's eyes fixed on her, on her movement, her power. Tifa's glove glowed slightly yellow. So she had used the assistance of some kind of command materia. Incredible.

More monsters flooded through the door, bugs and beetles and beasts. Fiends she recognised as a Jayjujayme—oversized, greenish cockroaches with rings of sputum-coated teeth—sidled towards the recruits at the back of the room.

Aster launched for them, but they jumped like fleas for her face. Each tooth a short razor, ringing a gaping, chasm-like mouth. She screamed and ducked, kicking one into the skirting board as it landed, another getting too close to Angeal's sword. She chased the survivor murderously and stamped her boot into its carapace, crunching its exoskeleton like a pile of sticks. Her own brutality caused her to stumble, but she could only watch in disbelief as the carcass did not bleed, but oozed. A small amount of dark, thick liquid seeped under it.

"Wh-what—?" she spluttered, snapping her head back and forth, searching for other lifeless bodies that had a similar effect. None. Or maybe no one else noticed, or no one else cared.

It felt like hours and it felt like seconds all at the same time, but eventually, numbers dwindled, and Rex stood with his hands on his knees, gasping for breath with a slash of skin gouged from his upper arm. Aster ran to him and took over, kicking a beast upside the chin with a dirty snarl when it dared to get too close to her friend.

Angeal laid the last Foulander to rest with an unceremonious stab through the head as Tifa, Newberry and Aster swept through the remaining Bizarre Bugs, tearing off their wings like shredding paper and squashing the smallest ones with their boots. A humanoid enemy with scarlet red, leathery skin and a metal mask covering its face burst through the door, spewing Mako-blue bullets rapid fire from the steel prosthetic grafted onto its arm. Tifa threw herself to the ground to avoid the assault, and Angeal swept his blade through its shoulder, slicing the arm clean off. With a scream so human-like it was disconcerting, it launched for Rohrbach, who without missing a beat, grabbed its face and smashed its head into the floor. Dead.

The thud of the skull contacting the wooden floor and an explosion from beyond the walls echoed in the room. Aster's neck blew hot with nausea, and then she noticed, faintly, a black liquid collecting beneath the humanoid monster's neck.

Her jaw fell open to speak, but she was interrupted by Angeal. His sword glistened with a tinge of blood. He looked at it and turned it in the light pensively. "I'm going to see how Zack is doing and assist the others. Remain here until you receive further orders. Look after the squad. Don't leave until it's safe."

Tifa nodded and tucked one foot behind the other. "You got it."

With that, Angeal disappeared through the gaping hole that had once been sealed by a door.

* * *

Aster surveyed the destruction in the aftermath of the assault. The bent, unsalvageable metal sheet of the door laid against the ground, rocking faintly from the disruption of recent impact somewhere. Shards of glass scattered the floor near the mirror where it had splintered, and Rex and Aster's reflections stared back, distorted and fractured. They looked at one another, hoping it wasn't a bad omen. The blood that pooled against the floor, unnaturally dark in the waning red lights that began to flicker back to normal, was only something that Aster could look at because she knew it—the majority of it, anyway—didn't belong to her comrades. Just monsters.

"Those of you who have injuries, line up near the front of the room. I've got some potions," Tifa said before approaching the door gingerly, though not fearfully, and poking her head outside of it to check the vicinity.

When Rex didn't move, Aster nudged his elbow. "Might as well get your arm fixed up."

He shook his head autonomously. "It's no big deal."

She scrunched up her nose and threw her arms behind her head, pointedly eyeing the gash across his bicep. "Get over yourself," she said. When he didn't laugh or even smile, Aster frowned and merely led him over the front of the room by his good arm.

"Hey, As—Doe," Tifa said, remembering to be professional and receiving a snap to attention from the girl she called. "Can—uh—ahem. Dispense the potions," she said, stumbling over her words again, remembering she was supposed to give commands, not ask favours. "I'm going to keep watch by the door."

"Ma'am," Aster said with a salute and a more personal smile before the martial arts instructor left the room.

Aster rubbed her hands together and pried open the first aid crate beneath the counter. Atop of said counter, she spotted the clipboards she had seen earlier.

She ran her fingers across them, spreading them out from on top of each other. Data. Signatures. Scales and figures and notes. Pages and pages. It didn't take her long to notice that her name wasn't even on there. It was a list of prospective SOLDIER members.

She scratched her temple absently. Guess she wouldn't have to worry about Zack finding out her name after all.

* * *

T he men stood at attention while they waited for authority to return. Aster noted the cadets' collective inability to make decisions when there were no instructors barking orders at them. It was probably how Shinra wanted them, so the drill staff must have done an excellent job of breaking the backbones of each man in the squad. The military academy—one of the branches of training that could be chosen after they became fully fledged infantrymen with control over their careers—was likely where they would go on to re-develop their leadership skills from the ground up. For now, they were perfect blank slates.

She frowned. Then what did that make her? She wasn't a perfect blank slate. Not the ideal. The infantry didn't even have a file on her.

Tifa never returned. In her place, one of the DIs returned to give them something vaguely like a debrief, to settle unsettled minds. He stood with his hands clasped behind his back, clad in the less-than-SOLDIER-but-still-iconic red uniform of the captains and up of the infantry.

He cleared his throat. "There have been two fatalities."

Aster's heart hit her stomach. Tifa hadn't returned—she hadn't seen Zack—

"Both were researchers in the labs at the time of the break-in."

A sigh of relief rushed through her lips, and with it, a new knot pulled in her stomach. A knot of sickness that she could so easily be relieved by the death of a human being, simply because it was not one she knew personally. Her palms grew clammy, clasped together.

"We are told this was an attempted break-in. The enemy is Wutai," he said. The silence of the room became palpable when every man instantly became aware that he could hear even the dangling of the set of keys at the DIs hip, and every breath dared taken in the room.

"We are still very much within the grip of war and will remain so for the foreseeable future. There will be no further information to grant. It is for the Investigative Division to come up with answers."

He and a good handful of cadets stared into her dumbstruck face, but the realisation didn't dawn over her until Rex looked at her, sympathetic toward the increase in her workload this would inevitably cause. Oh. Some of the colour sank away from her cheeks. The Investigation Sector of the General Affairs Department. Administrative Research._ The Turks_.

She chewed her lip. "…Right."


	11. Death of the Perennials

**A/N: Who else almost threw up all over themselves in excitement when they watched the State of Play teaser trailer for FFVII:Remake *hand raise emoji* Just me…? How gorgeous does it look? I die. I've watched it about…two-hundred times.**

**Anyway, I'm back bois! Sorry, I really couldn't get last week's update out in the end because I was stressed outta my goddamn MIND over my finals and…well, let's just hope I passed? I have one more exam to go tomorrow then…I'll be a lady of leisure!**

**I spread myself way too thinly this year. Next (academic) year I need to be more careful and look after myself a bit better. If you're out there somewhere reading this and you have exams or deadlines or assignments in school or work or otherwise, make sure you take some time out for you, okay? It's not worth your health; it's never worth your health. **

**Hope you're having a fantastic week, and here comes Chapter 11!**

15th May '19

* * *

**Chapter 11: Death of the Perennials**

Mixed blood and water pooled beneath Aster's fingernails as she scrubbed the floor with a cloth. She sighed and sat back on her heels; those on the Cadet Training floor at the time of the break-in who were not injured were required to aid in the cleanup operation.

The damage was mostly superficial. Shattered mirrors, broken doors, damage to the ceiling tiles. One of the training rooms had found itself stripped of a section of floorboards, and in the common area of the Cadet Training floor a support pillar had been blasted into pieces—thankfully it wasn't solely responsible for the structural integrity of the room. Carcasses that had yet to return to the planet were strewn throughout the debris, but as far as battlefields go, it wasn't so bad.

Still, Aster couldn't shake the feeling of death from her shoulders. Like a pressure over her neck that no amount of stretching could relieve, the lost lives of the scientists merely trying to better the planet weighed heavily on her mind.

An instructor knocked the empty door frame with his baton. "Doe, report to Tseng's office."

Her eyebrow quirked in interest. Maybe it had something to do with the break-in? She flung the rag into a bucket and stared at the stains on her hands, the blood of foe and friend.

"_Now_," the DI ordered.

Guess she'd have to wash her hands later. She clonked her helmet over her head and followed the guard out, numb to the feeling of eyes on her back. Across the room, two members of SOLDIER donning their infamous black uniforms conversed quietly with a third man in a long, red trench coat. She stopped in her tracks when one of them looked at her, Zack, and the DI slammed into her shoulder, muttering then shoving past her. Relief swelled in her chest; he was okay. She swallowed hard and snapped into a salute all too eagerly, then brushed past them into the elevator.

She crushed the button with her knuckle and expelled a shuddering sigh as the doors began to close, and tipped back her helmet so she could wipe her forehead free of sweat.

"Hey!"

Any relief was snatched from her gut when a hand waved between the gap in the doors, alerting the sensor and reopening them. She staggered back into the glass behind her, jerking to pull her helmet back over her face too late, but the eyes that watched her, though certainly of SOLDIER, did not belong to Zack. Neither was it Angeal. Her shoulders sank from their tensed hunch. One of these days her luck was going to run out.

The man let himself into the elevator and leaned across her to push the button to close the door again, his body blocking her view of the Training Floor. She eyed him cautiously, from his Mako eyes of SOLDIER excellency to his vividly auburn hair and the red leather trench coat that he wore over his First Class uniform. Somehow he pulled it off. Maybe it was his confidence.

She realised she was holding her breath, maybe so as to not choke on the aftershave from his neck.

"Excuse me," he finally said, pulling away from her personal space as the elevator began to move.

"No problem, sir," she said stiffly, unsure where to put her hands or her helmet or whether to salute or not.

"You are the Turk cadet, correct?"

When her throat croaked in lieu of an answer, voice caught by confusion and apprehension that a man she had never met knew who she was, he simply shrugged, apparently reading her body language aptly. "Apologies. Fair told me. I merely had a question for you."

She looked at him dumbly, then remembered herself and fixed her gaping jaw. "Yes, sir."

A ring of Mako green encircled his pupils, and the rest of his irises were a pale, but luminous blue. His gaze drifted from her and out over the Midgar skyline. "Do you not think that for a break-in the force applied was weak? No Crescent Unit. No anti-SOLDIER monsters. No troops."

Aster shifted in her boots. Weak? Not really. Maybe to a First Class SOLDIER, but to the dead in the labs? No, not at all. They were vicious, hungry for blood. "Sir, what are you saying?"

His eyes were back on hers again. There was something intense about them. "Did you see anything suspicious during the break-in or immediately before?"

She reeled back, confused. "Suspicious? No."

"I suppose that may have been the wrong word," he said, rubbing the back of his neck. "Unusual is more appropriate. What did you notice?"

"Each monster was native to the Wutai continent," she said. Her eyebrows drew together as she went on to recite her textbook. "Foulanders, Jayjujaymes and Bizarre Bugs are all indigenous to both the forested and the desert areas of the Western Continent. Although there was a mech that I didn't recognise."

The man before her smiled. "I knew you were the right one to ask. You've been studying, no?"

"If you want to put it florally." She looked at him blankly. "For every question I get wrong, I get a slap to the face, sir."

His smile fell. "I see."

The elevator bobbed to a plateau, and the door opened. It was Floor Forty-Two where she knew to meet someone to take her to the Turks Floor, wherever that was. She'd been countless times by now, yet they managed without fail to conceal its location. When they swiped their keycards into the elevators, the screen would go blank and hide the floor number. She nodded respectfully to the SOLDIER beside her before she stepped out, but to her surprise, he followed her out and grabbed her by the crook of her elbow.

"Just one more moment, if you wouldn't mind."

"Oh, uh, sure," she said, itching to check the watch hidden beneath the cuff of her glove but not wanting to get scolded for harbouring contraband. Tseng was waiting, and he wasn't particularly patient.

"You said you saw a mech? I know you're encouraged to observe."

She nodded. "It was human in shape, kinda leathery." She pointed to his trench coat and raised an eyebrow at him, forgetting, apparently, that this man was her superior. "Same colour, same texture. Nice, by the way."

He seemed to snort, but she couldn't be sure. She continued, "It had a metal mask and mechanical arms. Seems out of character, from what I've read, anyway. I thought Wutai leaned towards the biological end with their pet monsters."

"You're not wrong there. The monster you saw was one of our Roboguards. Angeal is reporting the defect; it likely became damaged by one of the fiends and malfunctioned. Was there anything else?" he asked, leaning towards her and clenching her elbow, still.

Her brow furrowed as she narrowed her eyes slightly. He was really pressing. Was it possible? Had he seen it, too? "I've…seen monsters give off a pale glow before, sometimes, when they die. Usually a greenish-blue like the Lifestream. Pretty standard," she said, placing her every word with care. "But there was this…dark stuff. Kinda like oil or, I don't know, ink or something. It seeped out like blood."

"How many?"

"Just two, I think."

He nodded slowly, his gloved hand covering his mouth and chin. When he didn't say anything, lost to thought, Aster frowned. "Did you see it too…?"

"I don't have any answers," he murmured to himself. "When the war of the beasts brings about the world's end, the goddess descends from the sky…"

She furrowed her brow. "Uh, something wrong, sir?"

"LOVELESS, prologue," he answered automatically, then fixed his posture and tone to something more authoritative. "Thank you. That is interesting, indeed. I would encourage you to share that information with Tseng."

She shrugged. Figures.

"It was lovely making your acquaintance—Doe, wasn't it?" He said offering his hand which she gladly shook. "Genesis Rhapsodos."

"Pleasure's mine, sir," she said, and she meant it, yet there was still perhaps a hint of uncertainty within her voice, though he likely didn't notice.

"If you ever need anything, seek me out in my quarters." He called for the elevator once again and the door swept open. "Ask the receptionist on the ground floor of the SOLDIER building. She'll send you up."

"Oh, _shit_—I mean—" When she smacked her hand against her mouth all too late, awaiting her reprimand, she could have sworn his mouth quirked upwards. Maybe he wasn't so much of a guardian of the rules as, say, Angeal was. "Thanks—thanks, sir."

With a nod and a farewell, he was gone.

And then it dawned on her. Slowly. That somehow he had left with all her answers, and only gave her questions in return.

* * *

Tseng wasn't having any of it. He wouldn't take a report and neither would he divulge into the nature of the break-in. Classified, he said, and Aster's muscles wound one cord tighter.

He stole her down into the slums once again, deep into the unfinished divide between Sector Five and Sector Six. Debris won down here. Construction was due to be finished sometime during the next few years, although it sure didn't look like it took priority.

Scorpion-like creatures with spiralling teeth crawled from beneath a toppled crane and fallen girders, spewing a sickly green fog that smelt vile and would certainly poison any in its path. Such so that she was happy when Tseng pulled her in the opposite direction.

It was a simple surveillance training exercise in the town proper of Sector Five, setting her to follow civilians without being spotted. "The goal is to blend," Tseng said. "If the target spots you, it's game over. You're out of the running, and the team is a man down."

The component fell into place in Aster's mind. "So…when Rude went to kill the men that had chased after Cissnei—"

"Yes." Tseng nodded affirmatively. "She compromised the mission and her identity."

"But that doesn't make any sense!" she said, slapping her arms down by her sides. "The Turks are _infamous_. The suits even more than your faces. Surely only an idiot could be being watched by the Turks and not know about it!"

"And yet you were watched for years." He flicked his wrist dismissively, with a cold eye on hers. "The fact that our faces and clothing are famous is irrelevant. We are indisputably the best in the world. They do not see us until it is too late—they are already as good as dead."

Aster thought back to the day she caught Rude in the clearing, waiting with the SOLDIER members besides a truck back in Icicle Inn._ I saw his face then_, she wanted to say,_ and _I_ didn't die!_ But then she remembered herself, remembered that if she wanted to leave, she'd have to give her life first, not to mention the life of her brother, too, and realised that in a roundabout kind of way, she was as good as dead after all.

It was as he said.

* * *

Around an hour later, Tseng called Aster over. She'd had a hard time—it wasn't easy disguising yourself while wearing a cadet uniform but still.

"Not a total wasted hour of my life," he said. "But can you tell me why were we really here?"

Her eyes were completely devoid of understanding, so he sighed as though it ought to have been obvious. "Who have _I_ been surveilling?"

Crap. The message was clear: keep an eye on the target, but be aware of everything else, too. Goddamn it. Anybody could have been around throughout the entire exercise, and she wouldn't have noticed since she was too wrapped up in her target. She blew out her cheeks, frustrated with herself.

"Come with me," he said.

A path wound through the rubble of slum-life. Far off in the distance, a large wall sealed the slums and the upper plate. Beyond it, the Midgar Wastelands stretched, where grass couldn't grow and withered trees fingered at the sky in dry reminders of the life that once was. They said that nothing grew in Midgar because of the intensity of the Mako reactors on earth. There was truth in that statement, but not the whole truth.

Regardless, Aster's presumption of growth in Midgar was soon to be proven baseless. Tseng stopped beside the stone steps of a grand—going on decrepit—church, with doors thrice the height of Aster and immovable.

One door lay half open, as it likely had for years upon years. Aster imagined what a mighty bang it might make to slam it. She imagined the cacophonous echo, reverberating endlessly up into the lofty space of the hollow roof, rattling the pillars and shaking the foundations. She imagined the crackling of rockfall and dust settling. Maybe the door slamming had been what had caused half of the roof to have caved away in the first place.

They stared in from outside. Wooden pews were neatly in line…to a point. Parts of the ceiling support had fallen in on the seating, splitting a few benches in two. A paradox; the church was rundown and well-kept.

Beneath a large stone arch sat an altar draped in worn red cloth, and a garden grew in the wreckage of ripped up floorboards. Yellow and white lilies flourished above sparse greenery in a patch of sunlight. Serendipitous indeed, the church sat just beneath a bridge that connected the top plate sectors high above, and as a result saw the slightest sliver of sunlight. It was the most growth Midgar had birthed in years.

By the garden sat a girl. It looked like she owned it, judging by the way she cupped a flower in her hands, caressing it like she was willing it to live.

Aster had just been about to ask what Tseng's course of action was, and if they were watching her, what were they waiting for? But the girl herself broke the silence, with a voice gentle, but bright enough to ring through the chapel.

"You may come in."

Tseng pushed through the gap between the door and Aster's body. His voice was frosty. "I don't recall asking your permission."

Aster tentatively stepped in behind him, her footsteps, no matter how careful, making hollow-sounding thuds against the old floorboards. The girl looked up from her flower, the sun drenching her back.

She was beautiful. Her features were soft but mature, framed by bangs of a fawn brown. A long braid swept down her back, tied in a broad pink ribbon, but most notably, like many others Aster had come to meet since arriving in Midgar, she had extraordinary eyes.

Not in the way that SOLDIER glowed. Nor how Tifa's winey red spoke of comfort or Rex's hazel gleamed with mischief. Not how Zack's inspired wonder. These eyes were vivid green, the precise shade of the Lifestream. Aster could think of only one time she had witnessed the Lifestream in the flesh, and it was following a burst near the cliffs of Bone Village many years ago. But that colour, that bright green, that was the exact colour of this girl's eyes.

But they were narrowed. Set in a scowl.

"Are you here to kidnap me again?" Somehow the voice was familiar, and contrary to the actual content of her words, she sounded utterly calm. Almost at ease.

Aster's brows knitted together as she watched this…peculiar girl stand gracefully, her white and blue dress swinging around her knees as she did, then her heart sank. Kidnap her? 'Again'? Her eyes flicked between the girl and Tseng's profile—she didn't think she had it in her to help Tseng put another girl through the same thing she'd had happen to her not even two months ago. Why the hell was this girl so calm?!

"You weren't always this villainous," said the girl, taking a few measured steps towards the Turk and Turk-to-be. Then green met blue, and although Aster had never seen her before, that was when recognition struck. _The voice from the cells_. As quick as she looked, she had looked away, back to Tseng. "Oops, sorry! Were you trying to impose a picture of yourself as a villain to the girl there? Did I ruin your image?"

She took a few more steps forward, charged by the bravery of her words, and challenged Tseng once again. She wasn't scowling anymore. "When I was young, you were more concerned for my safety. You watched out for me, didn't you? You protected me."

Aster watched in fair amazement of the girl before her; she was either brave or stupid. Maybe both, but that was far too dangerous a combination, and if she was the latter there was no way she'd still be standing here taking controlled swings at Tseng of the Turks—and after getting herself out of one of his cells somehow, no less.

Something in Tseng's jaw hitched. He was positively rigid. "I was rather observing you."

"Hmpf." She pressed her hands to her hips and turned on her heel, braid swinging behind her. "I'm not going to come with you."

Tseng sighed and approached her. "I have told you before—"

She whirled around with a pointed finger. A silver bangle caught the light. "And I have made it clear. I will not work for Shinra."

"Aerith," he urged, with a frustrated edge to his voice. "It's not about Shinra—"

"It's _always_ about Shinra," she said and returned to the small garden. Gently she reached to stroke the petal of a yearning lily. "You are the reason my flowers are dying and not growing back. Trees are falling and not being reborn. The planet is being poisoned."

"And we need your aid. It is with your power that—"

"Shinra only wants the Promised Land. And I will not bring you to it!"

Tseng's voice boomed through the empty church. "Aerith—!"

"I will _never_ work for Shinra."

He pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose and growled at the girls before him. "I am surrounded by stubborn fools." He turned, squeezing his fists in the most outward display of emotion Aster had ever seen from him. "Doe. Make your own way back."

Gone.

Aerith approached Aster somewhat cautiously. "Shinra is not welcome here."

"I, um, didn't know about—sorry," she stuttered, backing towards the door.

Aerith's head tilted to the side. "Wait, our paths have crossed once before, haven't they?"

"Uh, yeah, I think so. The cells, about...five or six weeks ago?" said Aster, then she snorted. "I don't meet many people in prison, honest."

The brunette smiled and it carried straight to her eyes. "Me neither. My name is Aerith Gainsborough. I'm a flower girl."

"Aster Doe," she replied, taking a few steps towards her and offering her hand. "I guess I'm a Turk cadet?"

"You almost don't sound sure," Aerith said with a small laugh, taking Aster's outstretched hand in both of hers warmly, and offering a completely different front to that she had given to Tseng. He sure didn't seem very popular. First Tifa, now this girl. Not a ladies man.

Aster couldn't find the words to phrase the question she wanted to ask eloquently. "Why _were_ you in the cell?"

Aerith clasped her hands behind her back. "I guess they must think I have what it takes to be in SOLDIER!"

The Turk cadet frowned. Didn't sound like it from what Tseng was saying. And what was that about a poisoned planet? The Promised Land? But if she was lying, there was no point in pushing it. It wouldn't get her answers.

Aerith invited Aster to sit near the flowers and she did—for nearly half an hour. Something was intriguing about the girl, something in her smile hinted that she always knew something you didn't. She was talkative and inviting, and upon Aster's leave, she offered a flower to her to take along. The younger declined, saying she didn't want to take something if it wasn't going to grow back, as Aerith had stated to Tseng, even though she didn't understand the weight of her words.

Aerith's face fell at that. She nodded quickly, and said, "Right…yes, well… I'm going to work on that one."

* * *

The barracks awaited her, and her uncomfortable, creaky bed, too. Despite it being almost painfully uncomfortable, the cot was welcome to her. The rest of the squad were already sleeping, exhausted from the toll exacted upon them by the break-in.

Aster's head spun. Nothing seemed to make any sense; everyone—even strangers—seemed more clued up about her life than she did. Her purpose. Tseng's purpose. The current state of affairs. She had been so set, so determined to press on and not stop to think for fear of the walls crumbling down, that she had dug herself to a point where she didn't even know what the hell was going on anymore.

There were so many things that Tseng shouldn't know, things that should have been _impossible_ for him to know, that somehow he did, and there were even more things that she should know, but didn't.

She raked her fingers into her hair with an iron grip. Her eyes stung, taunting her with the possibility of tears, so she squeezed them tightly shut. Exhaustion, fear, deprivation, horror, confusion. The weight crushed her shoulders.

A test and a task—but _what did that even mean_?

She whimpered, barely audible. "Oh, Gaia…"

The shuffling of sheets somewhere to her right alerted her to the wakeful state of her friend and ally. He leaned between the gaps of their beds and squeezed that burdened shoulder. "You okay?"

"Yeah."

"Wanna talk about it, liar?"

She couldn't help but snort. "…Not here. You down for a little escapade?"

"Always," Rex said confidently, yet when she headed for the door, he whispered into her ear, "What about the guards?"

She turned to him and raised an eyebrow. "They're not here. Haven't been since the end of Stage One." Her smirk tainted the sound of her voice. "You're big boys now, supposedly."

The door slipped open almost soundlessly, and she hoped for Rex's sake more than her own that the rest of the squad weren't aware they were leaving. She could get away with it. Rex was taking a risk.

Outside the room, they both spoke in whispers, paranoid they still might manage to disturb someone. Rex went to call an elevator.

"No, not the elevator!" Aster hissed, slapping his hand away from the button before he could press it. "That'll send a message to everyone in the compound that someone's breaking curfew, moron! We have to take the stairs."

Rex snorted and cradled his 'injured' hand. "Sheesh, you're such a Turk."

The basement to the rooftop was a lot of stairs, even for a pair who faced incredible physical challenges every day. Still, thirty flights were worth it for the view.

The lookout onto the city was incredible under the dark sky and the spit of Mako plumes from the nearby reactors. It wasn't the tallest building in Midgar, not even almost, as the SOLDIER and infantry accommodation buildings stood over them, and of course, in the centre of Midgar, the Shinra Building loomed over all.

Aster sat on the edge with her feet dangling over, and when she looked down, clinging to the railing not far above her head, she didn't feel much. No fear, just the numbness that only the ache of pure exhaustion can give. Rex sat next to her, seeming to share the same immunity to fear of heights, but likely not for the same reason. But, hey. Maybe.

The inside her lip was raw from her near-constant fussing over it. Finally, she sighed, if only to stop herself from drawing blood. "It's getting to me," she said vaguely.

Rex nodded as though they were words he'd always expected to hear. Something about it set Aster's face into a frown. "You could quit," he said.

It rose her at the hackles. She snapped, "Are you that defeatist?"

"Are _you_?" he retorted calmly, and instantly she sat back on her hands and frowned at the Shinra Logo affront of HQ in the distance. "Is it pride? No one would think of you as a failure if that's what you're worried about."

Her lips twitched in thought. "You're pretty blunt."

"No use not being," he said.

She chewed this for a moment and nodded. "Alright then. Even if I wanted to quit, I can't. 'The Turks leave the Turks in a body bag', so I've been told." Blunt, be blunt. "My options are to die on the field, or leave via suicide or execution."

She sucked in a cold breath that tensed her spine and blew it away with a shiver. The heavy words were given the full force of weight that comes with voicing.

"_What_? _That's_ the deal?"

"According to Tseng."

When Rex rubbed his jaw, Aster noticed the shadow of stubble that he'd be required to shave away at the first sign of life tomorrow morning. She wondered how he kept it back home, where his every action was not dictated to him, where he was free to make a choice.

He shook his head. "No way, come on. There's no use thinking like that."

"I know." Some kind of frustrated growl tore from her aching throat, aching from the threat of a suspicious swell that would suggest the onset of tears. There was no way she'd give in to that temptation in front of Rex, though. "I _know_. You're right. I've just been working so hard forcing one foot in front of the other that I've got so far in and realised," she said, looking at him intensely, "I have no idea what's going on."

"Tseng keeps telling me that he's been watching me for years. He knows everything about me, but _why_? I wasn't an interesting kid, Rex, I can assure you. I can't lie about anything because he knows _everything_, and he's threatened me and my family and—" she realised she was rising to the point of ranting, so she swallowed to slow herself down. "And I have no idea what he even wants from me. A task. _What_ freaking task? It's classified. Of course—like everything else!"

Her voice reverberated off the hard concrete roof and faces of the nearing buildings. Rex didn't look particularly phased though. He was like one of those people with one level—maybe two, she guessed. This one, completely laid back, and probably another if he just snapped one day. It was hard to imagine.

"You can only go forward, but you don't even know where forward leads," he surmised.

"Exactly," she said, exhaling hard into the night. "I guess SOLDIER is similar there, though."

He shook his head. "SOLDIER is a choice."

"Is it?" she asked darkly. "Recruitment, they call it. Kidnapping. And have you ever heard of a SOLDIER member successfully retire?"

Rex leaned against his hands. "It's pretty difficult. If SOLDIER members quit, they get monitored by the Department of Investigative Affairs—the same branch that the Turks lead—and they effectively get followed for the rest of their lives."

"But not many SOLDIER members have ever retired," he continued. "SOLDIER is in its infancy in the grander scheme of things. Old man Shinra was the one who spearheaded the SOLDIER programme. The Great Sephiroth is rumoured to have been the first SOLDIER member—which makes little sense since he's like…thirty-ish, and SOLDIER as an institution is I don't know, twenty years old or something. So not many SOLDIERs have reached retirement age yet, even by military standards."

Aster scrunched up of her nose. "Which politics book did you swallow?"

"Uh—just…heard it on the news, I guess," he said, rubbing his hand around his wrist.

"You'd be great in a pub quiz."

"I'd kick your arse, mate."

"That's nothing to be proud of," she snorted. "I'm shit."

They smiled at each other weakly in the wake of their laughter, faces lit by moonlight and Mako shine, then stared back into the city with the heavy silence of a strained future sat on their chests.

Aster acknowledged the unspoken words first. "SOLDIER members just die on the field. They don't retire. And they can't exactly quit either 'cause…"

"The Turks'll follow 'em, for betrayin' the Company…"

Aster looked at Rex again, blue eyes imploring in hazel. One prospective Turk begging for the answers from one prospective SOLDIER member. Both too young to face the weight.

"So…is that it? That's how our fates will play out? Either I'm gonna die before I even get to twenty, or I'm gonna live long enough to end up stalking you for the rest of your life?"

Rex sighed and raised his eyebrows. "You're alright, but you can be so damn pessimistic." He pointed to the sky cryptically, grinning. "Our lives will have meaning eventually."

His smile was infectious. "Yeah, you're right. Again. I guess I just wish it didn't have to be quite this way. You know, I always wanted to join SOLDIER."

"What's SOLDIER gonna do," he said, flicking her in the forehead, "with an eighteen-year-old figure skater?"

"Okay, first of all, why the hell do people keep saying that? I'd kick some real ass," she whined, rubbing her forehead and retaliating with a controlled jab to the shoulder. "Second of all. _Nineteen_."

"Um. Since _when_?"

"Since last week, thank you very much."

He jumped to his feet in disbelief. "What? No way! Why didn't you tell me?"

She snorted and got up to meet him eye to—shoulder level, folding her arms. It's not like she had anything to celebrate, in truth. "And what would you have done with that information?"

"I dunno," he said, "got you something!"

"Like a headache?" She facepalmed exaggeratedly. "Oh, wait, no, you give me one of those every goddamn day."

"Y'know, sometimes I really can't remember why we're friends."

She laughed and jabbed him in the back. "Obviously my dashing good looks, charm and smashing wit—"

He spun around with a glint in his eye. "No way, that's why you're friends with _me_!"

"I already know why we're friends," she said, grinning. She wandered around the rooftop, speaking with a lofty, fake-wise voice that an old wizard might possess. She stretched her arms above her head and spread them to her sides. "You help light the dark."

She was being goofy, but Rex's smile dropped flat from his face.

"Don't look so worried! I'm gonna light your path, too." She threw her arms up in the air, up to where he'd lifted her spirits. "We'll get through it. Wherever we might end up."


	12. Through Fault of My Own

**A/N: Good morning, everyone! Hope you're well and sprightly—I've been absolutely exhausted after the past few weeks, and even though I'm done with my finals I'm still SUPER busy. It's crazy! I want to start chatting about the previous chapter in these ANs and as such, omg, Aster and Rex's friendship absolutely gives me life, you guys. Love them. As for this chapter, ****here is a little weird-headspace-Aster. Understandable, I suppose, given the situations she has been finding herself in so far. This chapter is a bit of an emotional rollercoaster for her. And of course, it only gets worse from here! Enjoy, and have a lovely week!**

22nd May '19

* * *

**Chapter 12: Through Fault of My Own**

Aster woke a few days later to the feeling of a thousand bugs crawling across her body, biting, burrowing beneath her skin. But there were no bugs, only beads of sweat and the ghost of a fleeting nightmare.

The break-in sat on morale like the dead weight of an Adamantaimai, but cadet-life existed in a bubble, a vacuum, separate from the real truths of the military. As such, Tseng never mentioned the incident again, and no one else did, either. It bothered Aster, and it bothered her that she seemed to be the only one bothered about it.

If they were under attack or their defences were compromised, someone needed to do something. Instigate some kind of change. Alas, Aster was merely a cadet, and no one gave much of a crap what she had to say. Genesis's offer to stop by his place was growing more tempting day by day if only so she could have a decent conversation with someone about what happened. It was mostly his reaction that concerned her in the first place.

But then, if it really _was_ a big deal, surely Tseng would be getting more involved.

She funnelled her frustrations into her training. There were so many unanswered questions, so many lies, that the only way to burn away the strain was to push her body past the point it should be physically able so that when the night came, she didn't have the chance to cry. She was out like a light as soon as her head hit the inch-thick pillow.

And the contempt that the squad felt for her had become mutual. She didn't shyly bow away from glares, she met them full on, on more than one occasion resulting in a shove from either one or the other. Aster wasn't always, or even usually, the innocent party.

That bubble of cadet-life was rotting. Roll on pass out. Just a few weeks to go. Life as a Turk selective was making her rough around the edges—inside the bubble, at least. Must be why she loved Tifa's bar so much because her sandpaper skin shed and she resembled more the girl she used to be.

That morning, the army tried to kill the cadets again. A one-mile run, one-hundred pull-ups, two-hundred press ups, three-hundred squats, followed by another one-mile run. Brutal. But she shaved her average mile run time to six minutes and thirty seconds just bringing her within the range she was required to be in for the Turks. It was an improvement.

She overextended her arms and shoulders backwards to crack her aching joints and shook out her ankles. She could feel her helmet sticking to her forehead with sweat, but she knew better by now than to take it off. Bad stuff always happened when she took it off.

Bad stuff happened when she kept it on, too, but hey. That's life.

Incidentally, or perhaps because she tempted fate, the Red Cap—what the cadets had begun calling the instructors—stepped forward towards the cadets, many of whom were understandably star-fished across the ground in pools of their own sweat.

"Attention! I've been instructed to conduct an experiment on behalf of Tseng of the Turks."

Aster pressed her eyes closed, grinding her back teeth, attempting to suppress her growing anger. With a general air of lethargy, the twenty-one remaining cadets lined before their instructor.

"Alright," he said, surveying the sloppy state of the recruits. "He said to pick one at random. Let's go with today's fastest runner. That's you, Huntington."

"Sir," he said.

"You must pick the cadet you think is the weakest."

Aster set her jaw for the incoming blow and resisted folding her arms across her chest. Tseng would be disappointed. He would have been sure to make it sound much more dramatic, to give it the most disruptive impact. The DI was being way too nice about it.

"Doe, sir."

The Red Cap didn't react. "Why?"

Huntington had brown hair and a lanky figure. Aster couldn't hear any snarky inflections to his voice, but she was confident they must have been there. "She hasn't bonded with the squad."

She leaned from formation to snap at him. "I've been working on that!"

"Really?" he said, turning to her with bored eyes. "What's my first name?"

Shit. Aster pursed her lips together and straightened her back with nought to say to mitigate the damage she'd caused. Her face blew hot in embarrassment.

"Enough," the Red Cap said. He looked stiffer than usual, uncomfortable. Aster felt like telling him not to worry; she was getting used to it. "Partner with your closest in height and weight. Get a move on."

That put Aster with Sparrow. He bowed his head in acknowledgement of her, but nervously avoided her gaze. Maybe she frightened him. And that was what snapped her out of the detached mood she had woken with. She consciously looked at her gloved hands, wondering about the monster she may be becoming.

They were instructed to carry each other in an exercise based around carrying the injured or immobilised from harm on the field. Pretty much just basic fireman's lifts, but coupled with running on aching legs, which, to be fair, definitely mimicked the kind of scenario they could very well find themselves in for real.

"You run to the quad, and get in the trucks waiting for you, understood?"

The cadets barked their assent.

"Good. Go!"

For fear of being accused of patronising the boy, Aster didn't say anything. She merely cocked her head in a 'get on' kind of way and lifted Sparrow onto her shoulders as directed. The cadets sprinted to the quad and into the trucks that brought them out into the Midgar Wasteland in uncomfortable silence. For a moment, Aster and Sparrow looked at one another, neither sure what to say to the other, least of all under the hawkish glare of four others, so they said nothing.

Luckily, the ride was short. The trucks came to a stop and they were demanded to switch positions with their partner and run across the rocky crag in a fireman's carry once again, Aster became vaguely aware that there were far more than twenty-one cadets around.

She tried, after Sparrow lifted her and began his run, to get a good, if mostly upside down, view of their surroundings. The dusty, desert-like terrain lifted in the wind and blew into her face. She wiped the spits of stones from her eyes after a breeze and squinted to take in the others surrounding them. There were definitely faces she didn't recognise—although it was hard to tell when everyone was wearing the same goddamn infantry helmet.

Distracted, she was wholly unprepared for when Sparrow's knee gave, and she was thrown into a rolling heap when he hit the ground. The stones and rocks ripped the skin of her arm, and she coughed out a blow of dust.

Sparrow pulled himself back to his feet with shaking knees. "Spa—" she hesitated. "Actually…"

She looked around to check Huntington was nowhere nearby, then rolled to her knees as the others surged past them like a stampede. She asked, quietly, to salvage her pride, "What's your name?"

"Archie," he said, taking her hand and pulling her up without her asking for aid.

"Archie," she repeated. "I'm Aster. You good?"

He nodded. "Sorry."

"It's fine," she said, trying to ignore how his cheeks rounded and his lips were pink bows like that of a baby. This boy truly couldn't have been much older than her little sister, Marina. "Can you carry on?"

"Yeah, think so. S-sorry."

She shrugged as nonchalantly as she could. "Don't worry about it."

He lifted her once more against her better judgment, and this time she paid more attention to his footwork. She feared for just how many times his ankle rolled or he almost tripped and braced herself for impact more than once before the end of the run.

She felt kind of bad for him, even though she tried not to. It's not like he needed her pity. He was undoubtedly the weakest of the group, fairly obviously, and she couldn't imagine how frustrating it must feel to continually receive everyone's condolences for your weaknesses. Her nose scrunched up at the mere thought. At least he made up for it with tenacity. They made it to the growing congregation of recruits not quite last, but not far off either.

The DI ordered the recruits to put down their partners, and Aster slid from Archie's shoulders. The crack of a back smacking into the ground not far away snatched her attention, where Rex lay against a rock and Newberry loomed over him. Rex said nothing, peeling himself from the stone and wincing as he straightened his back, and Newberry stormed off through the crowd of white-shirted men. Aster's breath caught in her throat. Was Newberry targeting Rex to get at her?

Or were they already rivals to begin with? What was it that Tifa had said in the bar that time about Rex being an outsider—?

"Cadets!"

"Sir!"

Wow. The sound reverberated off the barren plain. A lot louder than usual.

The Red Cap rattled off an explanation as to the night's exercise. "We've brought squads A through to D—the rest get to sleep tonight."

Eighty-two cadets. Each of the four squads was split into four sub-groups and supplied with a map, a compass, and rucksacks with further supplies inside—mostly just additional weight to increase the challenge. The goal was to make their way from the random position in which they would be deposited to the location marked on their maps.

The acting commanders for this quarter's recruits dispersed towards their squads. Angeal approached Squad D and cleared his throat. "This is the devised sub-squad list. It is non-negotiable. Each sub-squad gets a leader," he said, clapping his hands together once.

He read out the list. "Sub-squad two leader: Newberry. Team: Doe, Barnhill, Evans, Henderson and Ayres."

Aster didn't react as she stood in a circle with her group. Outwardly, that is. Inwardly her heart pounded against her ribs and made her queasy. She bit her lip. No use being pathetic and childish about it. She reverted to analysing the decisions Angeal made to occupy her thoughts and rearrange them into something more productive than destructive, something Tseng had taught her.

The top performers were squad leaders. Was that a reward, or a challenge? It didn't come as a surprise then, to see the other groups led by Rohrbach, Rex, and the kid that had told her she was weak not hours ago. Her eyes wandered over to Rex, and he stuck his thumb up at her while still talking to his group.

"_You_," Newberry growled, startling Aster to shift her attention. "Are you even listening?"

She crossed her arms. "Frankly, no."

He shook his head, brimming with hostility. "Who the hell do you think you are? Don't think you're gonna get any special bloody treatment here. For once in your life, you're gonna pull your own weight—"

"Special treatment? _Really_?" she seethed to keep her voice down, stepping forward, too brave, blood boiling under her skin bursting for the reprieve of finally shutting this idiot's mouth. She clenched her t-shirt and yanked it up, exposing the black and blue bruising that muddied her ribs and abdomen just beneath the underwire of her bra, courtesy of early morning wake up calls. Not the kind you get from a hotel. "It's special treatment, all right. Every goddamned day."

"Are you asking me to feel sorry for you? Maybe if you weren't such a prick."

She yanked the starchy shirt back over her stomach with a white-knuckle grip and a hot face. "What the hell is your problem with me?" she said, half-expecting he wouldn't give her an answer.

"You've not got a shred of basic human decency, that's my problem with you," he snapped, like he'd been holding back from her as long as she had from him. "You're arrogant, prancing around like you're some innocent wallflower and sucking off Surrexit any time the opportunity arises—"

"—_What_? Leave him out of this, it's not like that at all!" She stepped further into the tense space between them. "Don't be such a coward!"

"Me? I'm not the one with attitude problems or a tendency to bully the weak!"

Air rushed into her lungs, but rage replaced it. "_That's_ what all this is about? Sparrow?"

"You've got no honour," he spat through tight lips. "If you did, you'd never kick a man when he's down."

"It's not my _choice_," she said, voice rising to a shriek. She bit it down into more of a growl, glancing over her shoulders to check whether they were being watched by their superiors. Angeal was off with the DIs. She turned to meet Newberry's face again, the glare of the lights on his helmet a fiery red like the burning she felt under her skin. "I have to say it, I'm _forced_ to say it, and Sparrow is objectively and, sorry but, obviously the weakest."

The recruits in their group shuffled awkwardly, exchanging uneasy glances, as Newberry took a step closer and Aster didn't back away. Electricity sparked in the space between them in the worst kind of chemistry.

"Take some responsibility for your actions! Stop hiding behind the Turks all the fucking time. You always have a choice—pretending you don't is a poor justification for your shitty behaviour!"

Her voice grew dark and speaking her words rather than screaming them made her fists tremble. _Choice_? What choice? "You have no idea." She shook her head so hard, her temples throbbed. "I can't lie to Tseng, asshole. The repercussions would be enormous—"

He blew into a full rage, yelling into her face. "Sometimes you've got to do things that don't just benefit yourself, you dumb bitch!"

She shoved him out of their circle, grabbing the collar of his shirt. "You've got no fucking idea why I'm here." Her voice reached the screech she had been trying to avoid, and it tore through her throat. "_I'm not exactly here of my own accord_!"

At the high register of her shriek, a SOLDIER member from another squad ran over and snatched her hands from Newberry's shirt with an iron lock on her wrists, using the other to block an incoming blow that Newberry had sent for her chest. Aster's heart sank; it was Zack. Of course it was. Squad A and B overseer.

Zack twisted Newberry's fist, forcing his elbow to buckle under the pressure, incapacitating him. As for the girl, Zack firmly pushed her a full step away from Newberry, marvelling at the steam rising from each of their faces—or what he could see of them anyway.

"The hell is going on?" he said, releasing them both. "No one ever teach you guys about the honour of SOLDIER?"

Aster felt Newberry's pointed look and stared at her feet, shrinking away under both his and Zack's gaze. The latter pointed at one of the boys in another sub-squad. "You, over here. And Doe, isn't it?" he said, more tersely than Aster had ever hoped to hear him say her name. "Switch groups."

She looked at him for a moment, rage dissolving into regret, a pounding in her chest. The look in Zack's eyes nearly killed her. Of course, he didn't know that the pathetic cadet that picked fights with boys with anger issues was the same as the girl he had gently healed. The same girl he was spending too much time in the bar for. But the detachment in the sky-blue eyes that she had sworn had been so much more open mere days before caused her empty chest to ache.

She nodded faintly, saluting but not trusting her voice to speak, and switched into Rohrbach's group as instructed. Zack reported to Angeal, who sighed and shook his head. Aster swallowed hard and flicked her eyes to her wrists, feeling the lingering pressure of Zack's hand against them, where before he'd treated them like glass. With red cheeks bearing her shame, she wiped her eyes of sweat, struggling to come to terms with the divide in her life that she had so willingly created, and couldn't so easily destroy.

How did she get into this mess? She slotted into Rohrbach's group as instructed who, thankfully, didn't breathe a word on the matter past his initial greeting in his thick, heavy accent.

"Uh…just none of that here, please."

With her lips pressed in a thin line, she held up her fingers in the a-okay sign and stared at her booted feet, embarrassment a black cloud raining over her shoulders.

* * *

She remained quiet. Took orders and followed them perfectly. Acted not a toe out of line and, honestly, didn't feel the need to. Rohrbach wasn't very sociable, but he was driven and knew what he was doing; each member of their team had a job and completed that job efficiently, and such was that there were no stragglers to carry.

The exercise dragged through the whole night.

Winning, even against the other fifteen groups, wasn't something that Aster was able to take pride in. That wasn't for lack of participating. Rohrbach was modest. Each member shared an equal weight of the task and the victory was shared.

It was rather because her heart and head had been hollowed, and she couldn't take the scrutiny of a certain man in a black uniform.

* * *

Head hit the pillow just before dawn. Up two hours later. PT. Training. The endless slog.

Even following her Saturday afternoon training with Tifa, she couldn't wind down. Her fingers folded over one another, and she twisted the beads on her bracelet between serving customers, generally holding her muscles tightly to the point she looked physically uncomfortable in her own body.

"Are you sure you're alright?" Tifa asked for the twelfth time in two hours.

The break-in, the body bag threat, meeting Aerith, her conversation with Genesis, the last run-in with Newberry. Aster turned through it all, making severe redactions because she couldn't catch up with the jumbled words as they spilt out of her mouth.

"No matter what I do, what I say, any move I make, it all ends up making the situation even worse than before. There's no room to move in the barracks for all the tension," she said before aggressively sucking half a glass of orange juice up a paper straw like it might do any good.

Tifa touched Aster on the shoulder. "Is it getting to the point where you fear for your safety?"

"It's my sanity I'm worried about," she said, shaking her head. "I know it's staged. This is the situation that Tseng _wants_ me to be in. He's teaching me things, but—"

"—Are you sure about that?" Tifa interrupted cautiously, eyebrows knitting together. "Are you sure this isn't just a really, really bad situation that has a perfectly natural resolution?"

"No, definitely not. This is Tseng's orchestration."

Tifa raised an eyebrow. "You sound paranoid."

Aster's eyes drifted into the swell of the public enjoying their evening with food and drinks and laughter, so far removed. Her eyes drew to the young man with raven hair that fell in quills as he walked in. Secretly her heart sank in shame. Tseng's orchestration did not extend to her self-inflicted personal issues. She couldn't blame him for this. Aster asked if Tifa would mind if she left the bar for a moment because her' thoughts were dishevelled'.

"Don't know if you'll find much in the way of fresh air out there, but…go ahead! Come back when you're ready." Tifa set her hand on Aster's arm. "And if you're not ready, don't come back."

Aster shook her head. "I'll be back in a few minutes."

There wasn't much of a view from the deck of Seventh Heaven. The wood creaked as she leaned against the balustrade. No breeze, no moonlight. Just the smell of cigarette smoke, chemical Mako pollution, and the faint buzzing of the flickering fluorescent sign above the door. But from here, she could allow her eyes to wander along the very different skyline of the slums. The enormous pillar off to the left, and sprawling under-city life around of Sector Seven.

Aster's last encounter with Zack ached. It made her hands shake. The way he had looked so disappointed in her—they precise way she thought of herself.

No, he hadn't known it was her, and frankly, it was getting to the point that even Aster herself didn't know if it was her or a shadow of her, but did that matter? It _was_ her, and if Zack found out the truth, that is what he'd think of her. That is how he'd look at her.

She pressed her eyes closed and inhaled slowly, breathing in the stale cigarette smoke that hung in the air and ignored the bite in her throat that longed for a straight itself. She wanted to restore things to how they knew they should be. And the only way to do that was to see him again, talk to him, as Aster. As herself. Not the soldier. Perpetuate the lie. Strengthen the divide between Aster and Doe.

What a mess. This had been avoidable, if only she hadn't been so insecure. If only she didn't _continue_ to be so insecure. If only she had had the foresight. The strength.

The door behind her opened with a tiny creak. Instinct acted before calm thought, and she whirled around to face him. Zack. Aster's stomach knotted in some rough cocktail of fear and anxiety, but when he smiled at her as warmly as he did when they first met, and as tenderly as he did when he cured her wounds, the icy grip of paralysis melted away from her heart. Not relief yet; her heart was still pounding.

"Hey," she said, levelly thanks to some miracle.

His smile spread. "Hey."

After a stretched beat or two, Aster took a few steps back to make room for him and resumed her position leaning against the railing, though this time with a small smile. He joined her, resting a shoulder against one of the wooden columns and folding his arms.

Maybe she didn't want to live two lives as distinctly as she had been, but if this was her only access to reprieve, she was going to take it. He moved her to laughter in less than a minute, and in the dead air, it was all they could hear.

"What have you been up to recently?" she asked in her lilted voice that, unbeknownst to her, flicked his heart a beat out of time.

"We brought some of the recruits out a couple nights ago for an exercise with maps and stuff. It's pretty boring for the staff 'cause it takes hours, so we make it interesting by running bets and commentaries and stuff," he said, grinning. Wherever this excitement was coming from, he sure hid it well during the actual thing—although, he was a professional, after all.

Aster couldn't stop the small smile from growing. She looked up at him. "You win any money?"

"I did, actually," he said, puffing out his chest with a grin of champions, laughing. "I bet that this one squad would kick the crap out of all the others. Pretty much happened. 'Geal wasn't happy, 'cause I took his gil _and_ he's gotta finish off my paperwork. I got to take one of the caps from a DI, too, and a baton from another. I'm gonna hang 'em in my office." He sniggered to himself proudly. "That squad, though. Almost literally kicked the crap out of the others."

Her cheeks went half a shade pinker than usual and she straightened her back. "What do you mean?"

He snorted dismissively and waved a hand. "It's no big deal. There's always a few cadets that don't get on. There's this chick and this dude that seem to hate each other's guts."

Her apprehension subsided when he started to laugh. "It was kinda cool actually. The guy is your typically oversized teenager on steroids, super broad, maybe this high?" he said, holding a hand at his eye level. "And this girl's tiny in comparison, maybe about as tall as you—probably a bit taller, actually—and anyway, she held her own all right. Pretty sure she started it, actually. Can tell she's trained by Tifa, that's for sure."

Aster deflated with a faint whimper. "What's the matter?" he asked.

She improvised and latched her hands behind her back, narrowing her eyes. "So by proxy, you think I'm tiny?"

"In comparison," he stressed. Then he flashed a white smile. "I _actually_ think you're pretty."

Heart gave out then. Or she was hearing things. Both. Possibly. She swallowed harder—way harder—than she intended or indeed was necessary and glanced back over the horizon of the slums. Zack smiled to himself, reaping enjoyment from her reaction, the flushing of her cheeks.

The over-lights of the slums cut out for the night, plunging them both into near pitch darkness. Aster couldn't help but laugh—must be eleven, then—and gently reached for Zack's forearms. She looked for his eyes, half of his face dimly lit by the lights inside the bar glowing through the window.

He smiled. "Before you go back to work, I wanted to ask you something. Meant to ask last time. An' I've already asked if Tifa could stand to lose you next Saturday."

Aster snorted and raised an eyebrow. "Should I be alarmed?"

"Maybe." He grinned. "See, last quarter's SOLDIER tests have just been completed," he said, apparently stalling before fastening his resolve. "I wanted to ask you if you'll come with me to the inauguration ball. As my date."

Her empty chest filled, set to burst, and in an attempt to control her massively increased heart rate, she teased him, as if that would make it any easier. "What's a girl to say to a legend in the flesh?"

"Um. Maybe yes?" He said, biting his lower lip in anticipation.

Okay, if she wasn't already sold—which she was—she definitely was now. Lip biting is a power play. Even in the dark. Especially in the dark. But that was another matter entirely and sent her cheeks a deep shade of red.

She smiled slowly, widely. "Sounds great."

"Really?" He beamed, eyes lighting up by at least two shades. He came just half a step closer to her. "Can't wait."

He pulled her in for a hug. Despite the weakness of her knees, she stretched onto her tiptoes and slid her arms over his shoulders and around his neck, and if the heat of his body warming her own wasn't already enough, the firm squeeze of his arms encircling her completely overwhelmed her fluttering heart. She could have happily stood like that forever, and in reality it was only a few seconds, but it felt like one long, glorious holiday somewhere warm.

His grip around her waist loosened and her hands slid from his neck and down his chest—which was a deliberate and calculated move on her part disguised as a casual, accidental brush—and they parted, both hesitant in their shared breaths.

It would be so easy, so tempting, to lean in and—

"Goodnight, Zack."

She didn't miss him subconsciously lick his lip. He was thinking about it, too.

"Goodnight," he said with a grin, finally turning and heading back into the bar.

Aster let out one hell of a shuddering breath into the night air with a smile plastered across her face. Her fingers still trembled as they had all day, but for a better reason. She couldn't feel her legs, which wasn't all that unusual these days, but not because she'd been running or squatting or fighting.

Because she had a date with Zack Fair.


	13. Trailing the Truth

**A/N: So! Aster has a date with Zack. Interesting. Kinda living for it, not gonna lie. I say that as though I just wrote it on the fly and didn't plan it for months before writing it. But anyway. Kinda love this chapter, too, it was a lot of fun to write and edit and shows a new dynamic between the characters. I actually edited the whole chapter in one sitting on a cross country train journey—I feel so uncharacteristically productive. I certainly hope you're having a lovely week, and please do drop me a line if you feel the need! I'd love to hear your thoughts so far!**

29th May '19

* * *

**Chapter 13: Trailing the Truth**

Shopping wasn't Aster's thing. She couldn't think of much worse than traipsing around the Upper Plate in and out of boutiques and department stores in the Shopping District for hours on end because she had no idea what she was looking for. She was a purpose shopper. In and out again with the one thing she went in for, and maybe an impulse buy too if it happened to jump out at her.

She could spend two hours in a food court and loved a good weapons store, but that was a different story.

When Tifa insisted that Aster stop into Wall Market to buy a dress for the SOLDIER inauguration ball, she was initially met with distaste to which Tifa sighed.

"Look, you won't have to worry about wandering around," she'd said with her hands on her hips, "because they'll tailor a dress for you, and it's cheap because it's in the slums. It's a little place run by an old man and his daughter."

So, at her next opportunity—a Wednesday afternoon free thanks to the other cadets partaking in the end of Stage Two SOLDIER aptitude test—Aster headed into the slums to buy a dress. She wandered into Sector Six from the Sector Seven gate where she had been lying in wait in the truck for Tseng mere weeks ago. Standing roughly where she had been sat, where she had been aching and sweating in anticipation and adrenaline, she stared into the park, searching for the tracks of her reckless driving. There were no traces to be seen, although the short fence she had ploughed through had been left in pieces, strewn across the floor. Sadly, it was likely never to be fixed. She pursed her lips and headed into Wall Market.

Clearly, it was named after the wall backdrop, an enormous concrete monolith that led up to the Plate, slathered in graffiti. Art that the painter must have risked life and limb for—there was only a lone wire scaling the wall, and Aster herself didn't fancy climbing it only to then hang on by one hand to paint with the other. 'No Mercy', it read, amongst other things, in luminous green lettering. Extraordinary.

It didn't take her long to find the quaint dress shop that Tifa had recommended. It didn't take her long to have her measurements taken either, but hell, she was shocked by the numbers. She was used to having her clothing tailored—she used to get her skating competition gear tailored all the time, and a lot of the monster-pelt coats that the villagers wore in Icicle Inn had to be customised, too—so she was relatively familiar with her measurements. Evidently, the physical strain of the past month-odd of her life had altered her body in ways that she hadn't realised until she was stood before the tailor's mirror.

Ultimately she had always been relatively slight. Sure, she wasn't always a soldier, but she _was_ always an athlete. Still, she remembered her couple of weeks in the cell, how her hip bones protruded and her ribcage skeletal. Now, in the mirror before her, stood a girl not so fragile. Her abdomen had tightened, her shoulders and collarbones were much more defined, and her arms and thighs were better developed. She wasn't as taut and strong as Tifa, but neither was she dainty, and that was something she could get behind.

The seamstress quizzed Aster to the nature of the event the dress was for, making suggestions based on her rather vague answers. In the end, she was quoted a reasonable price for a dress 'she'd be able to dance in all night' and was told it would be ready later that day if both she and her father worked on it.

Aster thanked the woman before heading back outside. She wandered through the streets, aware of the creepy stick of eyes against her skin from men that crawled out of shifty-looking buildings, before catching the neon of a weapon store sign. Like a magpie, she ducked in immediately, attracted to that which was shiny. Weaponry lined the walls, most of which were clamped behind metal cages. She'd always had a strange fascination with weaponry, particularly blades-she thought it had a connection to her obsession with skating.

She was just about to inquire with the gentleman at the fortress-like cash desk about a leather thigh holster for a pistol or knife-which she was sure would make her look like a total badass-when she was interrupted by a ringing PHS.

It took her a solid ten seconds to realise it was hers. Tseng 'gifted' it after he had been unable to find her one evening a week or so prior while she had been on a stint with Tifa involving a barrel of a new kind of beer for the bar and an original cocktail recipe that concerned a lot more drinking that it did mixology. She was allowed to use the PHS personally on the condition that she kept in on her person at all times so that Tseng could contact her, although calls outside of Midgar were blocked. It was tracked, but the fact didn't bother her. Even if she ditched the phone and legged it somewhere, if the Turks wanted to find her, she would always be found.

Above the Shinra insignia, the small screen read the name of her mentor. She flipped it open and brought it to her ear. Didn't even get a chance to say hello. "Doe, where are you?"

"Sector Six," she said, tucking the PHS between her ear and shoulder as she put the holster back on the shelf. "Why?"

"Topside?"

"Bottomside."

"Ideal. Meet me in the Sector Six park."

_Click_.

"Seriously?" she breathed aloud to no one in particular, snapping the phone closed and shoving it in her pocket. The holster of her dreams would have to wait. Her free time was becoming less free by the day.

The park had become something of an infamous rendezvous by this point. Tseng stood in wait beyond a swing set, a beaten-up truck not far behind him. Just how many different cars did the Turks as a force actually have?

She sighed dramatically. "Tseng, if you just wanted someone to play in the park with you—"

"Get in," he said, blatantly ignoring her. "You're driving."

"Hey, you're the boss," she said, clambering into the driver's side.

Once in, he slammed the door. "Head due southwest. We've found a lead on a Wutaian—"

"—From the break-in?" she interrupted, eagerly, flooring the pedal. She was so ready to kick those guerrillas out of the city. She felt unsafe in her own goddamn home—

Wait, home?

"Well, we have reason to believe—"

"Classified," Aster said mockingly, pushing her nose up like a snout with her index finger, then froze. "Wait—you're actually gonna tell me?"

Tseng blew half a laugh through his nose. "Not anymore."

"What, really?" She bounced petulantly in her seat. "Me and my big mouth!"

"Will you get serious," he said grumbling. "You've been spending too much time with that Fair."

Her face flashed a violent shade of pink. "I—! "

"Head for the outskirts," he snapped. "We're looking for a small resistance sect. Wutaian descent. Don't want a repeat of last week."

"Alright," she mumbled. "Who's your support?"

The Turks could operate alone, but typically they worked in at least pairs. Aster didn't count. Tseng made it clear after the fiasco last time that she was merely an extension of him and not an individual of her own.

"Reno," he said, inserting a small radio into her ear—highly distracting while driving. "You're going to be our eyes. Stop the car."

Aster pulled the truck between two shacks on a dirt road. Ahead, a large archway stood in a thick wall. Beyond it, all that could be seen was waste and ruin. Even by slum standards. It looked like a sectioned off village, dark and run down. Lawless.

"Somewhere deep in there, there's a growing faction of Wutaian resistance. We don't have any numbers as we anticipate they have spread themselves in small groups across sectors," Tseng said, not taking his eyes off the open, probably broken gate in the arch. "We are looking for one individual in particular, part of the Crescent Unit."

Genesis, too, mentioned the Crescent Unit. "What's that?"

"The Wutaians' elite force," Tseng said. "Reno is currently in there, watching the target. In approximately fifteen minutes, he will exit the building Reno is marking, and we believe he will head to one of three locations. This is where you come in. All you need to do—and you need to do it well—is follow the target, then find a safe location to deliver this information to Reno."

Aster's fingers pulsed against the steering wheel she was gripping for life. "Understood."

"Should you encounter trouble, I will take over. Ideally, it won't come to that. Once the mark enters the building, Reno will dispatch him. Be prepared to adapt," he gave a dark laugh devoid of humour. "No plan survives first contact."

Something in her chest trembled. "So…" she said, palms slipping with sweat. Her voice pushed through gritted teeth. "These are the criminals responsible for the break-in the other day?"

"If the thought makes it easier for you to digest, they can be anyone you like," said Tseng. "They are the enemy. They will wreak destruction if left unchecked. That much is an undeniable fact."

"That was a non-answer."

"Then don't ask." He got out of the car and slammed the door, confirming his finality on the matter. When Aster followed him, he said, "How are you going to blend? Your clothing is too nice."

She glanced down at herself. It was no compliment; he had a point. Her t-shirt, one she frequently wore in the bar, was clean. Her leggings were freshly washed, relatively new. Compared to her destination, a slum of slums, the dregs of the dregs, she was out of place. She nodded.

"Got a knife?"

Tseng smiled at her, genuinely, for the first time, and handed her a short knife. She pulled at her leggings and shoved the blade through, snagging at the fibres of the fabric until they frayed. She rubbed her hand in the dusty, dirty ground, and smeared them across her legs and face.

Meanwhile, Tseng threw open the trunk and rummaged in a duffel bag for a tattered old shirt several sizes too large for her. Bloodstained, torn. She sucked a deep breath through her nose but didn't protest as she took it from him, then peeled off her clean t-shirt to replace with the beaten. It smelt like rot and sweat.

It was probably one of Tseng's old shirts. She wondered what kind of mission he had been on to end up in this state.

He knew it wasn't pleasant. "The more you look the part, the better your chance of survival. If they don't pass you a second glance—"

"—Then they won't shiv me, either," she finished, handing him back his blade.

"You're willing to go in unarmed?"

She shrugged. The knife hung limply in the space between them. "I mean, you've told me enough times about my safety and armaments."

"Does not apply if you can handle it."

She shook her head and urged him to take it from her. "Well, I haven't had any weaponry training."

"You could die," he said, and Aster never previously believed that someone could say something so loaded so nonchalantly. "I would suggest you keep it on you, but do not pull it out unless it is absolutely necessary. Ultimately, you'd look stranger in this kind of environment if you weren't armed than if you were."

She shook the light blade between her fingers a few times before reluctantly tucking it under the elastic of her leggings, silently remarking how uncomfortable it was, and panicking that it would slip out at an inopportune moment. Or potentially stab herself in the back.

"You have less than fifteen minutes," he said. "Once inside the compound, you will find a dirt road lined on one side with old streetlights. Most of them are still standing. You are to find the building two storeys high, standing behind two streetlights, one of which functions, the other does not. One of the streetlights nearby this building has been notched approximately two foot from the bottom. This is Reno's cue to you. Count on seven more non-felled lamps, and an alleyway to the right winds around to where Reno is stationed. Locate the individual who surfaces from that alleyway, and track the building that he enters."

When she nodded, he swept his arm towards her destination. "Best of luck."

The arch that led into the slum within slums looked like a dysfunctional version of the Sector Seven gate by the park, but this one likely hadn't been working for some time. Aster could hardly breathe for her nerves, and those nerves made her more conspicuous.

What was her story? Her mind raced with possibilities—should've worked this one out before putting one foot in front of the other. She was proving not to be as logical as she had once thought herself to be.

The ground was pale and lifeless, strewn with litter and scrap. The pathway was wide with sheds and lean-tos on either side and took a sharp turn left in the foggy distance. It only took a few minutes of wandering to locate the two-storey building Tseng had mentioned, and it was one of the only structures that resembled anything semi-permanent, made of concrete and steel. Still, it had been gutted by thieves, and the windows had long since been smashed.

The two streetlights in front of it, one working, one not, told her she was in the right place. She ran her fingers along the line of shacks as she slowly made her way through the street. She clutched at her stomach, stumbling, buying for time she had to kill. A voice startled her, coming from the shadows between shacks.

"You sick, too?"

Petrified, but unable to let that fact on, she turned to face the individual. Maybe a few years older than she, he was a man in tattered clothing and dark hair. But she made out no more features for she was looking through him, feigning a lack of focus, and noting that he was stood in an alley that ran to a parallel street. Likely one that this road twisted into.

"Ugh…ahh…" She nodded faintly, and forced a violent retch that brought nothing up, but was so hard pushed that it appeared she'd already emptied the contents of her stomach and now couldn't even bring up bile. She improvised. "The…Mako…"

"Mako poisoning? The bastards," the man muttered, and sank back into the darkness.

Heart in her throat, she stumbled onward, keeping close to the row of houses to her left piled high and almost on top of each other, and far from the ones by the streetlights to her right. She staggered with squinting eyes—keeping them on those streetlights—retching here and there until she actually started to feel very real nausea.

A few steps ahead of her, the base support for one of the lamps was missing a small chunk, carved likely by a blade. She counted on seven, skipping two streetlamps that had collapsed into the roofs of the shacks behind them, and spotted another of the many narrow, dark alleyways that seemed to dominate the area. The place was like an ant colony. Only it was completely dead.

She tripped herself onto her knees to stop herself from walking past whenever the guy appeared. It'd be harder to trail someone you can't see. Using the time to dare a glance at her surroundings, she was prepared to wager that she was in a part of town you wouldn't want to be lost in alone. Despite the empty streets she felt watched, but couldn't tell from where. She was glad, above all else, that although it was darker here than in the slums proper, it was still lit somewhat by the lights that shone down from the plate. There's no way she'd want to be found down here in the dead of night.

Hearing movement from beyond the alleyway of question, she stumbled forward. She didn't watch, averse to showing her face, but was aware that there was an individual not too far away. She didn't actually lay an eye on him, or her, or whoever it may be.

The crackle of transmission tickled her eardrum. "_That's the one, yo. Take control._"

The sweat forming over her brow was probably aiding the persona of being a sick person. When fairly certain the figure had headed onward, she dared a glance, looking not directly at him but rather at one of the buildings near him. It is funny how one can hide in plain sight.

He turned the corner beyond her scope. She cursed to herself silently, knowing she couldn't exactly break into a sprint to catch up and see where he was headed. Grinding her teeth, she slipped into an alley—or less of an alley than it was a small gap between run-down buildings looking ready to fall into one another—that she prayed would lead to the road she assumed he had taken. She ducked beneath jutting corrugated steel and iron girders and made her way through to the other side near a trash can. He was back in her peripheral, heading toward her. She could stay here for a while with eyes up and down the street, blending into the scene and begging him not to pick up on her presence, if only she had a suitably in-character excuse to stay there. So she did the only thing she could think to do to make herself look the part. Like the sick and the hungry of Midgar. She tore into the bag inside the bin, held her breath, and rummaged as convincingly as she could bear.

Her heart pounded in her throat as the man passed her. She didn't look at him. He didn't look at her. Elbow-deep in the trash can, she watched him in the corner of her eye. He didn't turn around and made his way further down the road and into a short hut. Aster slowly pulled her arms from the can and gagged again, genuinely this time but it was all part of a good show, and sat in the shadows. She watched the street for a while, the quiet, dead street. People here only seemed to travel in the shadows.

So why hadn't he?

"_Doe, do you have eyes on the target's location?_" Tseng said, deep in her ear.

For once, the first time, the sound of Tseng's voice didn't instil anxiety, but rather security.

About to respond, she choked on her voice—just because the mark was far away, didn't mean he didn't have his own surveillance listening. "Ugh…uhhh…?"

Of course, Tseng had been doing this a lot longer than she. He understood without the breath of a word. "_Give me an 'ah' if you do._"

She gave her best, her weakest 'ah'.

"_Understood_," he said. "_Stand by_."

A hand clamped over her mouth and yanked her to her feet. Her eyes widened impossibly, unable to gasp or scream. Her legs kicked against her assailer, but even amidst the panic, she thought better of it and allowed them to flail uselessly. Powerlessly. She was sick, after all. She struggled, shaking her shoulders and upper body as strongly as someone with half her strength might have. She was easily over-powered.

"_Trust us, Doe_," Tseng said in her ear, firmly. "_Leave a trail_."

Through blurring eyes of panicked tears, she dragged her heels against the ground desperately to leave a vague groove in the dirt for Tseng or Reno to follow, kicking and trying to scream against the gloved palm of the assailant she couldn't see. He yanked her across into the marked building, and as he let go of one of his holds on her to shove across a blended section of the wall—that was actually little more than a sheath of corrugated steel—to reveal a downward passageway, Aster worked to loosen her bracelet, managing finally to slip it from her wrist. He shoved her into the passage and pulled the metal across once again, murmuring words she couldn't understand.

The room was darkly lit. A hovel, not a room. Walls of clay, not brick or steel or wood. Sick to her stomach, Aster could only bring herself to keep up her act, partly because it wasn't an act anymore, and partly because if she didn't, she didn't know what else she'd do.

There wasn't anything unusual in this…hole. There was some kind of low coffee table with scrolls and sheaths of paper littered across it. Large candles lit the room along with the torches on the walls, and a grand chair on a pedestal, more like a throne, in fact, more like a _shrine_, to Aster's untrained eye.

She turned to look at her aggressor, wearing some pale green uniform and dark armour. Some kind of guard. He pushed her into the ground and the gravel bit into her skin. She didn't resist, but rolled faintly, mumbling incoherently—skills she definitely learned from her encounter with Rohrbach. She'd have to remember to thank him.

The guard barked in a foreign language, and a man sat upon the throne yelled back at him. The man she had been asked to trail. Seemingly in response, the former rolled her face upwards to show him, which she allowed like a rag doll.

The man she had marked, a tall man, was sheathed in dark robes beneath a steel chest plate and helmet of sorts, some hybrid between functional and ceremonial. Across his back was a polearm with a sharp spearhead she didn't want to meet.

The two men towered over her until one crouched into her face and began to scream. Her body shut in on itself, closing down and submitting to terror. She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to block out the sounds. Amongst throaty barks and snaps in a language she couldn't speak, Aster distinctly heard the word 'Shinra'. How they knew she would never know.

Then, the distinct sound of corrugated metal bending and blowing out from the tunnel entrance filled the pit. The guard grabbed Aster immediately, pressing a blade to her throat. Terrified, she hardly kept to her feet.

Strolling in from the entrance came a flaming red-headed young Turk. Five-ish years older than her, or maybe he was a baby-faced thirty-year-old, it was hard to say—and irrelevant, but it was helping Aster remain calm all the same.

He strolled in like he owned the damn joint, tapping his stun rod against his shoulder casually. Aster smelt gunpowder. Did he just blow up the doorway?

"Gentleman," he said, taking a step forward, to which the man in the greater armour pointed his halberd. Reno raised his hands. "Whoa. Chill out."

He gave Aster a pointed look. She could have missed it. Good job she didn't, because even though she didn't know what he meant, she knew it was _something_. That was enough.

Reno snatched the halberd and shoved it upwards, lunging in, activating his stun rod and going in for the blow to the man's neck. The surge of movement and light distracted the guard for just a beat long enough for Aster to push all of her weight into throwing her body into the man holding her at knifepoint and prise the blade-wielding arm away from her. The shock of his previously catatonic prisoner taking him down with strength pulled out of nowhere only blinded him for a moment. She wrestled the power of his wielding arm, temporarily having forgotten his free fist which flung around to connect with the side of her face.

An enormous crash and sound of splintering wood indicated that Reno had the other guy down already, breaking the back of the table, with a foot in his shoulder and his arm yanked back to the point of over-tension in Reno's control. The red-head was barking orders, likely questioning him. The screams of an electrocuted warmonger permeated the air.

Aster rolled to avoid a second blow to the face and desperately grabbed the arm of her attacker, knife inches from her skin. Face turning red from the strain of his strength that began to overpower her, she twisted his wrist with intent to break and kneed him in the gut—one of the only sections of his body not coated in armour—to throw him off her. She scrambled to her feet and kicked his wielding hand as hard as she could muster, sending the blade flying and embedding into the clay wall. The man wailed in pain and snatched her ankle, tearing her down to the ground again.

Her back hit with a hard thud. Head by his feet, she slammed her heel into the lip of his helmet as hard as she could, forcing it off with the crack of one of the joints in his neck. Eyes wide, she shot to her feet, thinking she might have killed him, but when he got up to meet her, she couldn't decide whether to be relieved or terrified. She swallowed her ambivalence like a hard pill and ducked under his impending blows from huge fists, waiting for an opportunity to arise. Can't wait forever. She feigned for his stomach, and when he guarded deftly, she tackled him into the ground where the back of his head smacked into the helmet Aster had kicked off him. Gone. Out like a light. Unconscious. Or dead.

She staggered back as a gasp ripped from her lungs.

Please be breathing.

But she didn't check.

Instead, she threw her gaze to Reno, avoiding the bodies altogether, who stood with one hand shoved deep into his pocket and the other lazily tapping his shoulder with his stun rod exactly as before, as though he hadn't just used it to burn the flesh of the man on the ground before them. Dead.

Reno raised his eyebrows and grinned. "Hey, not bad. Where'd you learn that one?"

"Was an accident," she lied. Couldn't face the truth of her own brutality.

"Didn't look like an accident to me," he said, throwing his hands behind his head and studying her. "But if your accidents keep you alive like that, I want you around when you're fully trained."

Tseng barked down their earpieces. "_Could you two have made any more noise? Out of there, now, before any more alert is raised_."

Aster filed out after Reno, ignoring her quaking knees. "The explosives were pretty extra, Reno."

"Yo, you wanted to stay in here? The metal was protected. Magic materia. Wouldn't budge."

"Didn't realise," she meant to say, although it hardly left her lips as they snuck out of the building towards the truck that Tseng drove in masterfully. She threw herself into the back, Reno right behind, and Tseng stepped on it, tearing from the vicinity in a cloud of dust, raising as little alarm as was possible given the circumstances.

"Nicely done," Tseng said. "You two prevented a disaster."

Reno rested his head back on his arms behind him. "Hey…what'd you expect?"

"With you two?" Tseng wiped his face with a hand. "The creation of a disaster."

"So, it was a success?" Aster asked, leaning forward eagerly, keen to forget the events and rule them under as complete and over. Like they'd never happened at all.

"Good as it could have been," Tseng said, eyeing her in the rearview mirror. Her eye caught something dangling from it. Her bracelet. He smirked faintly when their eyes met, slipped it off the mirror and threw it back to her. "Nice touch."

She smiled faintly, but it faded quickly as she put the bracelet back on in its rightful place. "No plan survives first contact, huh…"

* * *

Instead of returning to Headquarters as expected, Tseng drove the truck back to the Sector Six park and told her to run along.

"What, really? All that work and I don't even get a lift back?"

"Nope," said Reno, popping on the 'p' sound.

"What about a debrief? Hello. Nearly died here."

Tseng scoffed outright. "That does not count as nearly dying. Tell me how you feel when you've lost more blood than there are pints of milk in your fridge."

Affronted, she sniffed indignantly. "Point still stands."

Tseng looked at Reno, then back at Aster, regarding them both indirectly through the rearview mirror. "The mission was a success. I will be reporting to Heidegger as soon as we return to HQ. The mark was eliminated without more than one additional casualty, and no unnecessary attention was yearned."

"Question."

Tseng funnelled every ounce of his self-control not to roll his eyes. Instead, he used that intensity to bore them into her.

"What were they doing there?"

"Insurgence groups from the war. There's a lot of them."

"Why take out him specifically?"

"He was the leader of the group. Obviously."

"Right, got it."

"Any more questions?"

"Not any that aren't—" she pushed her nose up with her finger again. "—Classified."

Tseng did roll his eyes this time. "Get out."

She grinned and jumped out of the truck. "Sir. Reno."

"Oh," she said, pausing before closing the door on them. She handed Tseng back his small dagger. "Thanks. Didn't need it after all."

With which, she shut the door and headed back into Wall Market. First thing she did was storm straight up to that weapons store and buy the badass thigh holster. She also allowed herself the luxury of buying an extra few supplies, healing materials, bandages and the like, before bursting back into the dress store with a little more vigour than absolutely necessary. Call it the remnants of adrenaline.

She had forgotten herself. Covered in dry blood from Tseng's old shirt, her leggings tattered and covered in filth, hair and face a mess, a new swelling from a punched face, and a holster built for firearms and blades poking out of a suspiciously full-to-the-brim paper bag of bandages and other somewhat dangerous looking paraphernalia.

She smiled politely at the lady behind the counter. "I'm here to pick up my dress."

The woman behind the counter's jaw dropped. The girl had been gone for less than half a day—what the heck had happened to her? With little more than a faint nod, she passed over a pretty little gift bag containing the aforementioned garment.

Dumbstruck, the woman merely said, "Looks like you're gonna be busy this weekend…"


	14. Avalon

**A/N: Hello, everyone! Super sorry that there was randomly no update last week. I was just completely indecisive as to how I wanted to shape this chapter from the raw material I wrote months ago, but I think I finally got it somewhere where I want it to be. **

**AND CAN WE JUST. E3 TRAILER. OH GOD. It aired at 2am my time and I was up until 3:30am hyperventilating. I have been through every VII:remake trailer on .25x speed pausing on every single frame (I wish I was joking but I'm not) and I'm just so in love with the environments. Writing this story made me reimagine what Midgar would look and feel like from the inside on a more realistic level, and the E3 trailer is honestly exactly as detailed as I imagined and hoped Midgar to be. You can see at least two residential/entertainment districts on the topside of the plate (this is as Midgar is referred to in On the Way to a Smile, by the way, as topside and bottomside, if you wondered where I got that from) and it's absolutely perfect, and REALLY perfect for setting the scene of this next chapter! **

**Thanks again so much for sticking with me this far, it genuinely means a lot to me! Of course, I'd continue writing even if nobody read it, but the fact that people do just makes it that bit more exciting to post. So. Last chapter, interesting, very interesting. Probably more important than it may currently appear. For now, super long chapter ahead, here we are with something somewhat…lighter. But you know what they say about the calm before the storm…**

**Have an excellent week!**

12th Jun '19

* * *

**Chapter 14: Avalon**

"She creates a façade, hides her feelings beneath bravado, an unnatural, very forced kind of confidence, and she maintains it until it breaks her."

"Until it _breaks_ her?"

The man paused. "It _will_ break her, of that I am fairly sure. Eventually. No one can hide their fear forever. She breaks down occasionally. There are tears and bursts of anger, there are submissions to a small selection of friends. And she gets up and continues for a while longer."

"Pathetic—"

"—Well. Yes. In the long-term. In the short-term, however, it's exactly what we need. If she buries her fears, I don't give a damn how temporary that relief is. If it keeps her moving, keeps her functioning, that is all that matters."

"If you are sure. You believe her bravado will keep her alive for long enough to survive ASURA, but not long enough to get her home?"

Tseng turned his back and pursed his lips. "Indeed."

"Perfect."

* * *

At some point between the press-ups, pull-ups, hand-to-hand, assault courses, cross-country running (with heavy bergens on their backs), fieldcraft lessons, marksmanship principles, Skill at Arms sessions, arguments, fights and endless tests, the atmosphere had tilted. Went sour and thick like curdled milk.

The space in the cadet barracks had always been highly-charged, but now it was downright volatile. Ready to burn. And actually, Aster didn't understand why this time. Usually—or at least, in her experience up until now—Tseng had placed her into a position that forced the cadets against her. This time it seemed to happen on its own.

Newberry's cheeks were blotchy and red as he passed her, and when Aster rolled her eyes, he grabbed her shoulders and shoved her so hard she stumbled into Rex's bed frame.

"Don't even look at me wrong," he snapped.

Aster didn't have time to realise what even happened. When the cogs did finally turn, he'd already stormed out the door for lunch. She wasn't the only mildly confused-looking cadet, either.

"Yikes," said Matt in passing, throwing his hands behind his messy brown hair. "What'd you do to piss him off this time?"

Aster shrugged, compressing all the steam of her anger into her head like a pressure cooker. "Breathed?"

The boy snickered before he headed out, too. Rex, strewn over his bed and easily the untidiest thing currently in the room, shrugged at her cluelessly.

She yanked open her cabinet door. Uniforms stacked neatly and possessions clean, identically laid out to that of everyone else's cabinets. Except at the bottom of hers sat a brown paper bag of miscellany, a gift bag, and a sealed duffel bag that held Tseng's beaten-up shirt and her own bloody clothes from the day of the raid on Icicle Inn. The Department of Administrative Affairs wrote a letter of permission to Public Safety for her to house such contraband—although such permission did not extend to include the watch and bracelet she hid beneath her gloves, nor the switchblade wrapped inside her clothes at the bottom of the duffel bag.

When Aster pulled out the gift bag and the paper bag to take them to Tifa's before they were discovered, Rex pointed at them. "You not going to mess?"

"Nope."

"Tseng's letting you have the arvo off?"

She shrugged. "On Saturday's I do extra hand-to-hand training. Then I—" She hesitated and checked the room was empty. "—Work at the bar, remember?"

Not exactly what she'd be doing tonight, but still. She pulled her bedsheets taut one last time for good measure and said, "What about you?"

Rex sighed. "I'm on 'security detail' for the SOLDIER inauguration tonight."

She winced. Everyone, even the greenest of cadets, knew that security detail at such a low rank was merely standing in uniform looking pretty somewhere boring for hours on end. "You signed up for that?"

"Yeah." He blew out his cheeks with a big sigh. "Figured since we can't go, might as well get some benefit out of what we're missing."

Aster chewed her lip, eyes wandering out of focus and beyond him. "What's up your bum?" he said, and when she didn't respond, he filled in the gaps himself with the fall of his shoulders. "You're going, aren't you."

"Well…" For a moment, she even considered lying. But then, if she couldn't trust Rex in here, who could she trust? "Yeah."

He tipped his head in such a way she didn't know whether he approved or held it against her. "Good. She'll be right, Aster."

"Thanks," she said, smiling gingerly at his choice of expression. "Don't have too much fun on security, now."

"Might love it so much I give up on the SOLDIER dream and join the Security Department instead."

Aster smirked and grabbed her bags. "You'd look great in the uniform."

"Me in red and blue? Nah. The SOLDIER uniform'll bring out my eyes."

Heading out the door, she laughed. "The Mako will do that bit."

* * *

The early evening sun streamed through the windows of Tifa's apartment and warmed Aster's legs as she combed through her damp hair. Tifa drifted between the kitchen and her bedroom, and the gentle sound of piano music ambled in the air. Tifa said it reminded her of home, of her mother.

While it wasn't strictly Aster's type, it smoothed her rough edges. The blended aroma of herbs and spices wafted through the apartment, and she could just about hear the sizzling and boiling of various pots and pans in the kitchen.

The younger of the two sat holding a compact mirror in one hand and a mascara brush in the other, pulling a variety of strange faces as she coated her lashes. Tifa interrupted her concentration. "What happens if you get recognised?"

"Okay, so, I have a plan. It's not a good plan. It's not really a plan, either—bear with me here."

"Bearing," Tifa said with an amused smile, leaning against the kitchen doorframe and pulling a cloth between her fingers.

"Not many people have actually seen my face," Aster said, contemplatively leaning her chin on her mascara-wielding hand, looking for a second like she might accidentally smear it all over her face. "Obviously the squad have, but most of them won't be around, and the DI knows what I look like, but he's going to be with the off-duty squad."

"So your plan is… 'just don't get recognised'?"

"Exactly."

"Great plan." Tifa laughed, shaking her head and disappearing back into the kitchen.

Aster swiped her lashes with the mascara wand. "Goddess only knows I don't need them finding out about this. As if the squad need more reasons to hate me."

There was a knock at the door, and for a moment, Aster wildly panicked at her under-dressed state until she spotted the time and realised it couldn't possibly be Zack already. Heart in her mouth and forehead beginning to cool down, she called to Tifa, "I'll get it," and unlocked the door.

She recoiled when she opened it at the sight of the only hair that could rival Zack's, except it was even spikier and better defied gravity. Diametrically opposed to Zack's raven, though, was his blonde, and it was a much brighter, more golden blonde than Aster's pallid shade. Mako eyes shone at her.

By his expression, he wasn't expecting her, and neither was she, him. She blinked. "Cloud, wasn't it? Tifa's in the kitchen."

"Thanks," he said with a nod, his voice softer than she remembered it from the bar.

Aster closed the door behind him and frowned to herself. When she turned and watched him extend then clench his fingers like he didn't know where to put his hands, she added together the music, the food and his nervous tension.

She pressed a finger to her lip at her conclusion, then cleared the make-up and gift bag containing her dress from the couch. He sat somewhat stiffly in the space she made for him.

"Don't worry," she said with a stifled grin. "I'm not staying."

He looked up at her with a furrowed brow. "What do you mean 'don't worry'?"

She simply smiled and went into the kitchen. She didn't speak for a moment, just leaned against the counter nursing a growing smirk, watching her friend grabbing a couple of plates from a cupboard near her hip. When she felt Tifa was intentionally ignoring her presence, she cleared her throat obnoxiously loudly.

Finally, Tifa turned to face her. She placed her hands on her hips. "What."

"Didn't tell me you had a date…!"

Tifa sighed and shook her head. "I already told you, it's not like that. I haven't seen him for years. We're catching up."

"Over a candlelit dinner and a few glasses of wine…" Aster said wistfully, clasping her hands together and trying desperately hard not to start laughing when Tifa sent her a gentle death glare—a glare with intent to incapacitate, not kill.

"Where are you meeting Zack?" Tifa asked, so casually that Aster was convinced she was just trying to change the subject.

Here, in truth. But Aster quickly decided she'd meet him halfway since she didn't want to impede upon Tifa's evening, so she told a little white lie. A lie that for once, she didn't feel an ounce of guilt over. "I'm gonna meet him at his place."

"Alright," the older girl said, giving her a quick hug. "Enjoy yourself, okay?"

"You too." Aster smiled and turned to leave the kitchen but paused beside a wine cabinet. She pointed at it. "Make sure you use the best stuff—"

"—Aster!"

She burst into laughter as she left, pretty sure that a kitchen cloth had been hurled at the back of her head but narrowly missed and hit a cabinet instead, and disappeared into the bathroom to get ready.

The Wall Market dress slipped over her skin to a perfect fit. It wasn't much. Plain, knee-length chiffon in a rich maroon that was backless thanks to the halter-neck. It was simple but pretty, and she could use it for skating shows, too—that is, if she ever got to skate again.

Her hair fell over her back, hanging in waves, a feeling nothing short of luxury to her now. In the mirror, she looked different. Really different. Less of a monster of military proportions.

She shoved her government-issued PHS and some gil in a tiny purse that looped over her wrist and pulled open the door. Through the crack, Tifa and Cloud sat on the couch and plates of food with steam still rising from them sat untouched on the coffee table. Tifa, for a moment, looked painfully serious—what on Gaia could they be catching up on?

Still, they were clearly completely oblivious to the rest of the world around them. Aster was fairly sure the walls could have fallen down and still neither would have noticed. Or maybe they would have noticed, but not cared.

Sneaking out was easy. Gentle on the locks, Aster slipped through the front door without more than the sound of the latch clicking into place when she closed it behind her, and she left the Residential complex for the SOLDIER buildings.

* * *

Due to early spring, the sun was preparing its descent, and nineteen hundred hours on a Saturday evening topside was fascinating. There were people everywhere, under the golden lights that flickered on come the young evening, making the sequinned dresses of young women sparkle like the flashes of a paparazzi's camera, and young men—somewhat obviously a lot of members of SOLDIER and the infantry—travelling in groups, loud with laughter and ready to drink the local bars dry. It brought a grin to Aster's face. Night-life here was a hell of a lot different to anywhere else in the world.

And then, across the paved courtyard that extended from the SOLDIER building, she caught the eyes of the man she had been trying to find, and she hadn't needed any time to compose her bravery because before she knew what was happening her heels were clicking the pavement under her jog to him. He clearly didn't see her through the crowds until she was but a few steps away. A smile breached her cheeks.

Surprise crossed his face, dropping his mouth open slightly as soon as realisation reached him. She bounced up to him, unable to control the explosive mixture of excitement and nerves that bubbled in her chest, and gently touched his shoulder in greeting.

It was an official event, after all, so Zack and all of his fellow SOLDIER compatriots were required to dress in uniform, the difference being that the shoulder guards and respective leather straps were nowhere to be seen, replaced by a suit jacket of sorts over his famed black turtleneck.

She chewed her lip under his gaze before grinning and pushing up his chin to close his mouth. As soon as she did, he smiled.

"You don't scrub up too bad," she said with a grin.

"And you are absolutely gorgeous," he said bluntly, colouring her cheeks with a similar fierce shade of garnet as her dress. He took this as a victory and wore it across his grin, offering her his arm. With a slightly coyer smile, she took it, slipping her hand into the crook of his elbow.

"Well," he proclaimed dramatically, "I was about to pick you up from Tifa's."

"Then I'm glad you're adaptable."

"Just couldn't wait to see me, huh?" he drawled with mischief dripping from his voice.

She mock-scowled at him. "Actually, I'm just hungry."

"Wanna go eat before we hit the party?"

"Always," she said with a grin. "I was a bit worried I'd have to raid HQ's kitchens."

"We can do both."

"I'm down for both."

He laughed. "Great, alright. There's a nice place up Sector One topside if you don't mind a trek. We'll take my bike."

She almost blew him backwards with her vigorous response. "_Bike_? Sounds even better."

"Never ridden one?"

"Not really the terrain for it where I'm from, don't you think?"

"You kidding? Motorbiking in the snow is incredible! Only been a few times though—crashed not far from Bone Village when I was stationed there once," he said, then tagged on a quiet mumble in some form of regret—although it wasn't particularly convincing due to his smirk, "I got'n trouble 'cause it wasn't my bike."

Aster chuckled behind her hand. "Whose was it?"

"Reno of the Turks."

"_Oh_," she said, laughing slightly harder at the thought. "I'm sure he got over it."

"Dunno. Reno, ah…he can keep revenge suspended for a _real_ long time. I'm still sleeping with one eye open 'case he goes for the hair," he said, pointing to his black spikes with a false sense of terror. "Seriously, you ever see Reno coming, you should run the other way."

She scratched her cheek. "Er, right…got it."

"Might be unavoidable, with your job."

Her fingers dropped from his elbow like a stone. "What?"

"I heard he likes a drink," he said, with a shrug.

"Oh—oh, Goddess, ha aha…right. You're right," she said, disguising her shuddering sigh of relief under a laugh. "Surprising, actually, how many of your fellow sword-busters enjoy a tipple or twenty on a Saturday night."

"Not me!"

"No, you're in it for the fries."

"Hey, and the company. They have this new barmaid, and…" he trailed off with a grin.

* * *

In the basement quad of the SOLDIER building, Zack threw a long leg over his bike, forcing Aster to avert her eyes to avoid an untimely blush. Helmet on ready, she too would need to throw a leg over the bike. Hitching up her skirt and mounting the bike wasn't the problem—she was never particularly body conscious. Actually, there was no _problem_. The way her body slid into his back was hardly a problem. While she was stifling her quickening breaths and gingerly resting her hands on his sides, he was no doubt valiantly trying to ignore her thighs and knees beside his hips.

Trying and failing so badly Aster wasn't sure he'd tried at all. He half-turned to her and rested a hand against her leg. "Aren't you gonna be cold?"

She shook her head, but her smile was lost beneath her helmet. "It's already warmer here than it is in summer in Icicle Inn."

"You serious?"

"Oh, yeah. Snows nearly all year unless you head south."

"Jeez," he said. "Sounds rough."

"Maybe for you," she said, with a light jab to the kidney area, "you're from the jungle!"

"Hey! Don't make fun of us born in the sun—you'd totally wilt in Gongaga."

"Bet I'd last longer in Gongaga than you would in Icicle Inn."

"_Wrong_, and that sounds like a challenge and you're gonna regret it."

She laughed, wrapping her arms firmly around his waist, nerves melting away into comfort. He brushed her knee and thigh once more before starting his bike up and whistling out from the parking garage and into the cool Midgar night.

They ambled hand in hand through a crowded avenue lined with restaurants and bars at a lazy, sauntering pace, laughter escaping her open mouth as she stared up to the heights of the buildings and the flashing of huge adverts, at least one of which displayed the iconic poster art for LOVELESS in the largest theatre of Midgar. Her heels clicked twice for his every long stride, and the pair of them looked very much like every other couple that wandered up and down the street.

"Up here," he said, pointing to a staircase between a restaurant and a bar and taking the steps two at a time.

It was a small place, completely tucked away and almost unknown even in such a busy street, likely owing to its tucked away entrance. Actually, small was an understatement; there were about seven tables. It was tiny. But the atmosphere was calm and warm, and the window they sat by overlooked the busy street, where they watched people of varying degrees of sobriety walk, or stumble, up and down, city lights playing across their faces.

A candle lit the space between them and conversation was easy and gentle. No awkward silence and no forced conversation to avoid it; any lull was natural and peaceful, not expectant or hesitant. The food was amazing. The company, better. Their laughter rang between their glasses and filled the room, and neither of them cared.

Eventually, Zack looked at the time. "I suppose we're late."

Aster smiled. "Time well spent."

* * *

Nestled within one of the offshoots of Shinra Headquarters laid a beautiful state ballroom. The floorboards were polished until they shone, windows looked out to the breathing machine of Midgar's sector cities, and a stage stood adorned with plush velvet curtains and live music playing from a range of instruments from the band in the back. Tables were scattered around the dance floor, and the fancy seating in tiers up the walls suggested that the executives and maybe even the President Shinra himself would sit up there somewhere, likely during important events—like the SOLDIER inauguration ceremony that Zack and Aster had missed by about two hours.

It wasn't all that surprising that such a gilded and spectacular venue such as this existed within Shinra's walls, after all, it was a vivid display of luxury, money and power, three of the things that Old Man Shinra publicly stood for. It was open to civilians, too, to those that could afford admission. So, topsiders.

There were multiple bars in the room, swarmed with newly minted members of SOLDIER, without yet the SOLDIER glow, and instated ones alike, and although the music was loud, so was the laughter and raucousness all around.

An ice sculpture marked a buffet table stocked full of fancy foods that barely looked edible—they looked more like painted works of art made of ceramic and glass. Drawn to a platter of what looked like iridescent pearls no larger than a piece of materia, Aster picked one up and bit into it, not expecting its delicate shell casing to be sugar that melted in her mouth along with the chocolate truffle inside it.

Man, Shinra pulled all the stops.

She turned to Zack with wide eyes and a cheek full of chocolate. "This's incredible!"

He grinned. "Want a drink?"

"Yeah, okay," she said. "Can you excuse me for a moment, though? I'll come find you."

He pushed her hair back over her shoulders and pointed to one of the floor level bars. "No problem. I'll be over there."

"Thanks," she said, trying to ignore the tingling of her skin where his fingers brushed.

He disappeared through the dancing and drinking people that swarmed the bar and tables, and Aster got to work. She wrapped a few pearly chocolates into a napkin and met a few distasteful glares from snobbish onlookers with the poke of her tongue.

With her tiny parcel, she spun on her heel, scanning the faces of the hundreds within the ballroom walls, relaxing in the sheer volume of people, knowing with every additional individual in the room she became more invisible. Comforted by that knowledge, she slipped through the vast, glass revolving doors and into the foyer.

Low ranking members of SOLDIER—who evidently drew the short straw—stood with perfect posture on security at various posts, infantrymen among them. It didn't take her long, exiting the foyer, to find the man she was looking for. He did a double take.

"_Aster_? Shit, you look different when you're not covered in sweat and blood," said Rex, cocking up his helmet so it hardly sat on his head to get an unfiltered view with his hazel-green eyes.

"I guess I'll take that as a compliment. Having fun?"

"Frothing, mate."

"Less of the sarcasm, it's unbecoming."

Rex snorted loudly. "Coming from you?"

"Hey, you should be nicer to those bearing gifts," she said, rolling her eyes exaggeratedly as she took his hand and placed the wrapped chocolates in it.

"You beauty!" He grinned, unravelling them feverishly before sealing them up once more. "Thanks!"

"Don't mention it."

"So," he said, putting the chocolates into his pockets and shoving his hands into them, too. "Who's the lucky guy?"

She snorted. "You mean 'unlucky'?"

"'Course," he said with a half-smirk.

She pinched her lip between her teeth. It wasn't like she could lie. Random guys in bars in the slums don't just happen to be able to get you into one of the most prestigious events of Shinra's calendar year. "Don't tell anyone. It's kinda, um…"

He raised an eyebrow.

"…Zack."

Disbelief crossed his face followed by a knockout 'are you serious' look. "_Zack_."

"Yeah…?" she said sheepishly, wincing like she would when her younger, wiser brother scolded her.

"Of all the men in Midgar, you picked one of your commanders?" Rex laughed. It came out almost like a cough. "Wow."

"Hey—it could be worse!"

"It could literally only have been worse if you'd picked Tseng—"

Aster shuddered violently. "Geez, don't say that."

"—to which I would have had to vehemently reject for obvious reasons."

She scoffed amusedly and crossed her arms firmly over her chest. "Okay, you have the final say over my love life, that it? Does Zack make the cut?"

Rex stroked his chin, but despite the theatrics, his words came out relatively serious. "Zack's a good guy. I respect him."

"I'm _so_ glad that I have your seal of approval."

He laughed outright. "Don't give me that face. You'd better get back in there before he reckons you gave him the flick."

"Yeah, you're right. Have a good night, Rex."

"You too," he called to her back as she turned on the ball of her foot, skirt kicking up behind her in the breeze of her movement. He knocked his helmet back onto his head. "You look great by the way!"

She laughed and turned, walking backwards a few steps before spinning off again. "Thank you!"

* * *

It was getting late and the alcohol content of the breathing air was getting to levels of toxicity—okay, it wasn't that bad, but there were more than a few celebrating SOLDIER members who had probably had a few too many. Everyone else was just enjoying themselves.

An extraordinarily young member of SOLDIER First Class and a stolen selective from an agent-creating administration sat at a table, voices fighting over the music and noise, throats straining but neither caring. Eventually, she settled for scooting her chair to his side instead of opposite him, and from there they spoke comfortably into one another's ears, surrounded by the bustling but not part of it.

A couple of drinks were of utmost import, if only because for one, it was novel for Aster to be on the same side of the bar as Zack and not serving him, and for two, if either of them were going to go anywhere near that dance floor, one or both of them were gonna need to be at least slightly lubricated.

That's all it took.

"C' mon," Zack urged, tugging her hand and pulling her into him. "I know you can dance!"

"On _ice_," she whined, but couldn't argue. She lost the battle she chose not to fight in a single breath because there, stood inches from him and staring up into his face, she decided steadfast never to be any further away ever again. If the dance floor was his destination, she was going to follow.

That, she did.

Laughing, she let him lead her into the middle of the floor, wading through people everywhere, a blur, a dream, only he in sharp focus. The sight of his shoulders, his back, then, when he turned, his brilliant blue eyes, sparkling even in the low light. He drew her toward him and rested his hand on her hip.

She lost her vision for that split second, as the warmth from his hand and his body enveloped her and reminded her how coldly she'd been living. Now was her time to feel alive. She rested her hand on his shoulder, and her rigidity and apprehension became lost under her laughter; her feet floated over the floor. She wasn't even thinking about it.

Slightly breathlessly, she tiptoed and spoke into his ear. "Who knew you were such a good dancer?"

"Want the truth?"

"Only if it's hilarious."

"It could be," he said grinning. He twirled her around and pulled her back, his chest pressing against her shoulder blades so that this time, he was murmuring against her ear. She shivered, he noticed. "I used to get lessons."

Her chest rose and fell beneath his sculpted forearms. "Oh yeah? How come?"

He spun her out gracefully and placed his hand back upon her hip. "Because my footwork in sword mastery was terrible."

She stopped dead in her tracks, almost tripping him over her feet. "Get out!"

He laughed. "No, I'm serious. It was my mentor's idea. I took, like, a whole year of lessons when I was fifteen or something, and it worked a charm. And sometimes it charms the ladies, too."

She grinned. "I guess it does."

The conversations between their mouths and the ones between their bodies were different. Tongues light with laughter, but bodies shivering with anticipation and hesitation. The music grew louder, ready for the finale of the evening, the room full of vibrant life yet so dull compared to the connection that reached between them.

The smile slowly fell from her face as the quivering of her heart took hold, losing herself in his eyes, the shape of his lips. And likewise, something took hold of his features, too, a braveness, resolve. They didn't need to smile anyway, the way they moved did it for them.

His hand slid to her back, the burn of skin on skin catching her breath as he dipped her gently, and she arched her back with the music. His free hand brushed her neck, lips but inches apart, erratic breaths suspended in the space between them. Her hand found his cheek and jaw of its own accord, and slowly they rose, the dance forgotten and music merely muffled noise.

Heat rushed to her cheeks as his unfocused eyes flicked slowly between her eyes and lips. A pull drew her in as he tilted his head into hers.

But her spine went rigid before their lips could meet, and she staggered away. Her heart stopped fluttering—stopped altogether. Zack followed her line of sight, swallowing back his longing.

Hers, eyes like a deer in headlights, met a pair as black as obsidian. Tseng.

A girl behind him, petite, with a jaw length, tapered bob of canary blonde hair and cold dark eyes stood behind his shoulder. She wore not the full Turks uniform, yet…

Aster's mouth fell open and dried, and she couldn't feel Zack rubbing her side in an attempt to soothe her, or rouse her from her state of daze.

Tseng didn't look away. Neither did he speak. Eventually, he flicked his eyes to Zack and strode past with the blonde at his heel.

Aster stumbled back a full step, but Zack's firm hold of her hip steadied her. "Are you alright?"

Her heart—and head—started pounding, and the music filled her ears again. Her hyperawareness as to his hands on her body returned, and she focussed back into his eyes, wide with concern.

"Wh-who was that?"

"Aster, your hands are shaking—"

He was right. He was holding them both in his now. "Sorry. I'm sorry." She let go of his fingers and shook them out vigorously. "Who was that?"

"Uh…" Zack followed the Turk leader with his eyes, frowning. "His name is Tseng. He's head of the Turks."

Aster shook her head forcefully, clutching Zack's arm so the dread piling in her stomach couldn't pull her to her knees. "No, not him, the girl. Who was that girl?"

"The _girl_?" Zack repeated out of confusion, scratching the back of his head. "I think her name is…Elena? Yeah, that's it. She's the Turk candidate."

Aster snapped her eyes up to his. "_What_?" She ran her fingers into her hair. "But…the… You—didn't you say the Selective was in one of your squads?"

There could be nothing good from Tseng training another recruit. Was she failing? Or was it something else?

Zack took half a step back so he could meet her severe gaze a little more comfortably. "She _is…_but Elena is a Turk candidate, not a Selective."

"What's the difference?"

Zack's eyes drifted into the crowd, and in the slight tugging together of his eyebrows, she could almost see him fight a war within himself to tell an ugly truth. She just knew it. "Candidates are trained by the Military Academy and Intelligence branches of Shinra. They're on a career path, right? It's their choice. Selectives are…" he began, before looking into her eyes again with regained resolve. "Hired. Head-hunted. Not often brought through will… Then they're trained for specific missions. Their fates are usually pretty grim. It's a bit of a shadow of the company really," he said, rubbing the back of his neck. "No one knows a lot about it."

Horror sucked the colour from her skin like he'd just threatened to kill her, but he wouldn't understand _why_. Why her icy blue eyes quaked, why her nostrils were flared, or why her mouth was hanging open, and if he strained his augmented hearing, he couldn't understand why her breathing was hitched and panicked.

_Their fates are what?_

"Aster, what's wrong?"

She blinked hard, shaking her head, rattling away the spindly clutches fear around her head. "I'm sorry, I heard that the…selective is from Icicle Inn, is all. I was afraid that maybe she was someone I know."

"I only know her surname; it's Doe. I've met her a couple times."

"I guess I don't know her, then." Aster swallowed down her urge to whimper and shook her head. A deep sigh escaped her. "There was never anyone in Icicle Inn with the name Doe."

He pulled her into him, only swaying with the music, and not bothering to move his feet. He ran his fingers up and down her spine, the touch threatening to reduce her backbone to rope. She smiled again, and in truth, it was partly forced, because her infatuation with Zack was currently battling with the troubling things he'd told her, and she didn't know which one would win out. He knew more. She could tell, but couldn't ask. She wrapped her arms around his neck tentatively, nowhere else to look but his eyes.

Looked like her infatuation would win out after all.

* * *

The music was slow and drew out into the background, but neither noticed, embracing still, swaying in time with each other, murmuring to one another in their own shared space, and genuine smiles returning to her lips. It was only when the lights gradually returned to their fullest that either realised the party was over.

She looked around quizzically, as though she was wondering how she'd managed to completely miss the mass exodus that had taken place in the last ten or fifteen minutes. The band was still playing in the corner at less than half-volume, waiting for the two idiots on the dance floor to go the hell away so they could go home, probably.

"You know," Zack said, a smile gaining on his face rapidly. "We never finished that dance."

Her quiet giggle was the loudest sound in the deserted space as she placed her hand on his shoulder once again. Streamers and confetti, napkins, cans and wrappers were strewn across the floor, cleaners coming in and sweeping the remnants of the party away. But amidst the havoc, to Zack, nothing else existed. Besides her, there was nothing. The background faded out of focus, all he saw were ribbons of her wavy blonde hair as she twirled and her eyes with a hint of mischief whenever she looked at him. Her frame, the shape of her body. Communication in motion.

The night was ending, but by Goddess, if he wasn't gonna remember every moment. Commit it to memory. Their shared breaths. The exact colour of her eyes, the way they shone with silver thread in the light. The shape of her figure. Feel of her skin.

But he'd have to dream of the taste of her lips. Dreams that kept him up all night.


	15. Stabscotch

**A/N: Hello! SO. Last chapter o_o Anyone pick up on Aster's subtle little 'time well spent' line paralleling her concept of time being 'stolen' from her by Tseng?**

**I remember I was so excited to write this chapter, and I get kinda excited rereading it and editing it, too. I hope it reads as well as it plays in my head. Such a cool scene. Things are beginning to heat up a bit, and everything that appears to make no sense will start to make sense soon—or maybe that's misleading—everything will make sense ****_eventually_****. Yeah. That's more accurate.**

**I'd really love to ask for some constructive feedback at this point. I feel like I am slowly improving, but there is so much to learn. I don't regret how huge this story is (at all, I love that it's such a behemoth) but it certainly is a challenge! Really any thoughts would be super helpful, thank you!**

**As always, I hope you're having a lovely week and I will see you next chapter! - Spirit**

19th Jun '19

* * *

**Chapter 15: Stabscotch**

Zack's overstimulated brain wouldn't allow his body to rest. His eyes stung against the will of his racing mind whether he held them open or closed. Open, and he was swallowed by the enormity of a lonely, empty bedroom and a sliver of pale green light drifting in between his curtains from the Sector-governing reactor. Closed, and he just saw eyes, a bright flame captured in ice, threads of silver and cornflower blue.

Suddenly the bed was too big for one.

For Aster, her mind had not exacted the same toll as her body, and so she laid in an uncomfortable state of wake, waiting for her dreams to release her from endless overthinking.

Zack had walked her back to Tifa's. When she'd hugged him before he left, she made the mistake of inhaling too deeply, taking in too much of the subtle scent of his body and the warmth of his embrace. Kissing just his cheek took every ounce of her waning self-discipline and all that training was suddenly worth it. The right time hadn't come; the time it had was interrupted.

So, Aster slept at Tifa's for something less than four hours and strode through the steel doors to her cell at six-fifteen. The cadet barracks, that is. Six-fifteen since it was Sunday, a rest day for the cadets, but not Aster.

She threw her things down onto her bed and rubbed her eyes, ready to get out of the heels she'd had to force her now swollen feet into, and grabbed a fresh uniform from her cabinet. She glanced over at Rex's sleeping form beside her before ambling towards the showers at the back of the room, stifling a yawn while the skirt of her dress drifted lazily around her knees.

"Went to that sodding party, didn't you. Now performing your walk of shame."

She whirled around, much harsher than the night before, seeking the gravelly voice that set her teeth on edge through the low light. Newberry perched on the metal frame of the foot of his bed, hunched over, fingers gripping his knees. Looked like he could have been sat there all night. Maybe even days. He was perfectly rigid with resentment, carved of marble, stone veins standing from his hands. It was in his body language. In his voice. In the air that hung thick around him.

"Maybe," she said through gritted teeth, unwilling to let him talk her down. "If only I had the capacity to feel ashamed, huh."

He balled his fists into knots of twisted steel and launched towards her, the closer he got, the more visibly he trembled with boiling rage. The heat of his blood knocked Aster back a step. "That's exactly the problem with you," he seethed. "You disgust me."

"What? What the hell have I done now?" she asked, addressing him with her arms open. There was no way that even this idiot could get this angry just because she went to a snooty Shinra party and he didn't get to go. She searched for clues in his blotchy, rubbery face, but found nothing but sweat, irritated eyes, hatred, and tears. Her jaw fell. "Are you crying?"

"You have no remorse—I can't even look at you."

Aster stretched her arms towards him placatingly, trying to quell a raging beast, calm the noise, reduce the impact his anger inflicted. "Newberry—"

The cadets surrounding them began to wake with his rising voice that was torn by ragged breaths, disorientation thick in their groggy faces.

"What you did," he screamed, baring his teeth with bulging eyes like a rabid wolf. "What you do."

"Newberry, calm down—I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Which makes every part of you even worse."

He grabbed her shoulders and shoved her with all his strength into the wooden table that sat in the middle of the room, which in turn skidded into a couple of beds behind it. The table slammed to a halt with a screech and threw her body into a crumpled heap, half on the floor, and half on top of some unfortunate cadet. She mumbled blurry apologies to the poor kid, and picked herself up to her feet, the room spinning.

Rex shot upright in bed at the crash and yanked his sheets away to stand, and he wasn't the only one to snap to his feet. Wasn't the first, either.

Rohrbach inserted himself between Newberry, the table, and Aster, placing a firm grip on the shorter boy's heaving, rattling shoulders. "That's enough."

Even Barnhill of all people, the one who hated Aster most next, was rubbing the back of his neck with a trace of a grimace on his face. He sauntered up behind the seething bull and nodded his agreement with Rohrbach. "Even if it's her."

Newberry shook Rohrbach off him violently with the breadth of his sweeping arm. "You don't understand." He wiped the sweat and tears from his face with his palm. "It's worse—much, much worse."

Rohrbach looked at Aster coolly, as though he were assessing her contorted features. He appeared to regard her dumbfounded expression as genuine. Perhaps he was to say something of that deduction, but he hadn't the chance as Newberry stormed out of the door, past the man standing in it.

And that man, surprisingly, stepped aside without so much as looking at him. It was Tseng, and he silently holstered the baton that was primed for Aster's wake up call.

"Well, then," he said, as the door closed on the moving hurricane's exit, dust settling on the uneasy cadets. He brushed down his suit and addressed his protégé. "Are you ready?"

Aster closed her gaping mouth. Still in her dress, un-showered, and passing glances between equally uncomfortable cadets, she merely nodded.

But she tilted her chin slightly higher, cleared her dry throat, and brushed her dressed down, mirroring exactly as Tseng had done before her. Casually, she pushed the wooden table back into its rightful place as if it hadn't likely just bruised her spine, nodded to Rohrbach courteously and strode for the door.

Rex reached his hand to touch her arm as she passed him, a touch which asked his question without even needing to move his lips: What the hell just happened?

"No idea," she said, with a much smaller voice than she intended.

* * *

Jack Newberry didn't return to the barracks. No one knew where he went, and no one knew what caused his violent outburst. No one would dare ask him, either. Rohrbach or Rex could have potentially overpowered him, but with the searing adrenaline of rage on his side, it was unlikely that either of them would actually be able to subdue him if he turned on them.

Regardless, Aster's training took place in a dress that day. Paranoia grew, and stealing glances over her shoulders with every turned corner caused strain in her neck. The dress would really give up the act. The lie—her protection, her defence—would dissolve to foam, and under Zack's repulsed stare she would melt in it. Too deep to back out now.

It was selfish. She couldn't help it.

So, with an aching neck, Aster stabbed her heel into a sandbag, piercing the film and spilling grit upon the diamond plate metal floor in an indoor shooting range developed for the sharpshooters of the infantry. Tight in a two-handed grip, she aimed a weighty pistol for the targets ahead of her. A real weapon. Tseng told her he hadn't the same time to waste on imitation weapons that the infantry did.

But she hadn't really spoken to him. Neither did she look at him. There was nothing but his heavy, empty stare and the popping of gunpowder. Eventually, Tseng broke the conversational silence. "Might I ask why the recruit in the barracks appears to hate you so desperately as he clearly does?"

She lowered her pistol, following her target only with her eyes. It slid left and right behind and in front of blue 'pedestrian' targets that she would be penalised for hitting. She raised her gun and fired, catching the shoulder of a blue mark. Rolling her eyes, she lowered the gun in defeat again, the barrel pointing lazily near her feet.

Tseng barked his disapproval. "Nice. Just shot Reno on the field. And flick your damn safety before you pipe a hole through the sole of your shoe."

A sharp intake of breath puffed out her chest and cheeks as she retook aim. She considered ignoring him but glanced at her heel embedded in the sand before legitimising his question with an answer, anyway. "I don't know. I thought I did."

She narrowed her non-dominant eye and squeezed the trigger a few times. The red target folded in on itself and was automatically replaced by another. She sighed. "He took it personally when I singled out Sparrow as the weakest cadet."

"An opinion you proceeded to stand behind."

"Of course," she said with a curt nod. "Objectively speaking, he is the weakest member of the squad. He hasn't improved by the arbitrary standards set by the leaderboard. I'm not attacking his character." She shrugged and frowned at her target. "It's whatever—I'm sure he's alright as a person. Who cares what I think?"

"You don't have to justify yourself to me."

She ground her teeth together, bitterness rising like bile in her throat. "Not when there's no one else around to watch."

Tseng didn't defend himself. He was above that, of course.

"That's not to say he hasn't improved at all, though," she said, dropping the gun to her side again. She heard Tseng draw breath to which she lifted the pistol without looking at him and pointed at the engaged safety, rolling her eyes—where he couldn't see, that is. "Not improving on an 'arbitrary scale' doesn't mean he's not improving at all. Just that he's not keeping up with the rest of us."

"As for Newberry?" Tseng pressed.

She shot a hole through another red target. Knuckles white. If she were imagining the pistol as Newberry's throat, he would have been thoroughly choked. "He said I was classless. Bullshit. Doesn't get a lot classier than firing a nine millimetre in a dress, three-inch heels and last night's make-up, now, does it?"

Tseng pinched the bridge of his nose. "As full of panache, as ever."

"I'm only short of champagne." A blue pedestrian suffered two bullets to the face and one to the shoulder. Aster's scowl suggested it wasn't an accident. "Why do you even care?"

"Do you find it so abhorrent that I may look to ensure your safety?"

She bristled. It was a wonder how in the tension of her body her brittle neck didn't snap when she half turned to him like a badly oiled machine. "My safety?" she squeezed through clenched teeth. "You mean my utility."

It seemed they were mostly the same in the eyes of Shinra. And Tseng appeared to have an inclination as to who might have given her that impression.

"What did he tell you?" Tseng snapped as he ripped back her arm to force her to face him. "I needn't threaten you."

She coolly tilted her head to meet his eyes with a scowl that mirrored his. "He didn't tell me anything. Only made me aware of the distinction between Turks candidates and Selectives."

His bony fingers dug into her flesh. "Fair knows nothing."

"Selectives are chosen for specific tasks," she reeled, growing faster and faster until her cheeks were red, "but I'm being trained separately—differently—to regular Turk cadets and for Gaia's sake I wanna know what the hell is going on, Tseng!"

"Be quiet," he hissed, close enough to her face that she could see his lips tense over his teeth. "Your training is tailored to the Turk you need to become. You are hired for a specific task. That _is_ the distinction. Before you complete it, you will have a test."

Obscenities rushed with her breath as she shrugged off his grip. "Better pass then," she muttered.

Tseng didn't respond. He merely stared ahead into the targets.

* * *

After being let go at around seventeen-hundred hours, Aster collapsed into a chair opposite Rex in the mess hall with the clatter of her tray, feeling but ignoring the stares that licked her neck and back, sticking like jam.

How many times had they eaten like this? Enough times that Rex immediately swiped her baby carrots in exchange for his mushy peas. Enough times that they both knew without really asking which foods they liked and which they didn't.

Not before shovelling a trowel full of veg and meat in his mouth did he speak. "You didn't have to get all dressed up for me."

She narrowed her eyes with her false smile. "Adorable."

"How you goin'?"

She moved the slop of peas he'd dumped on her tray around with her fork. "No advancements since this morning's antics. You?"

"Same. On which front, the devil in that detail is nowhere to be found."

Aster swept a glance down the table from their usual position right at the very edge. No Newberry. An empty place where he'd normally sit.

"No one's seen him all day," Rex added.

"Whatever," she said, shrugging as if to shake him off her shoulders. If only it were so easy. At the sound of a small chorus of snickers arising from the table behind Rex, she pressed a hand to her face and ignored the look from four strangers' eyes. "You ever feel overdressed?"

Rex snorted loudly, a carrot threatening to clog his windpipe. It was fine. He coughed it up. "Can't relate. Wanna borrow my helmet?"

"Wow, thank you, Big-Brains-Surrexit for that two-hundred IQ suggestion. If I cover my face, no one will notice!"

"You are so welcome," he said, clapping his helmet down over her head. "I'll let you know if I see anyone you might not wanna see you, if ya get me."

"Thanks."

"You do make life needlessly complicated for yourself, just sayin'. Have you thought about how many hours per week they work you on average?"

She pulled Rex's helmet harder against her head and sank into her chair. "I'd rather not."

"About a hundred" —He leaned against the table for effect— "A hundred. You're killing yourself, seriously, and then you still manage to find the time to go frickin' dancing on a Saturday evening?"

An inhuman whine originated from her throat. "Thanks for the math."

He shrugged. "You should rest more."

"No," she said flatly. "Stopping never won anyone any races. You can't take a break at a station, or the train'll leave without you. Pushing through is the best way, the only way. This isn't a vacation. It's the military. Besides, you lot work around eighty hours, anyway."

"I guess, although we generally aren't forced into all-nighters just 'cause our boss's a sicko."

Aster burst from her chair and clamped her hand over his mouth to shut him up, shushing all the while. "Rex! Keep it down before you get smacked upside the head by someone."

He pulled her palm away and pushed back his shoulders. "Why? I'm not afraid. I'm only stating facts."

"One day, our mouths, collectively, as a pair," she began, flopping back into her seat, "are gonna get us in some serious trouble."

"Nah, what're they gonna do to us?"

"Hang us. Drag us. Gas us."

"So dramatic," he said, rolling his eyes. Then, he gasped. "Get down!"

She threw herself under the table on his word—much to the confusion of Matt beside her, but Rex must have given him a sign because he didn't question it—frantically scanning the room for whoever he felt she might need to hide from. Sure enough, through a dense wood of calves and table legs, she caught sight of her date of the night before…from under a table in the very same clothes she'd been wearing whilst with him. This was getting ridiculous.

She had to contort, twist her body with her cheek nearly against the floor in order to see him, but comfort was an easy sacrifice to make for the chance. Her smile lit up the underside of the table. He was laughing. By his lax features and way he held himself he wasn't on duty, but neither was he getting food since he had his own place to live. She had to strain to isolate his voice from the mass of the rest, but she could manage it. She could hone in on him. Just about.

He was talking to a man who was probably about his age, maybe twenty-two, twenty-three, in a dark, maroon uniform—SOLDIER Second Class. The guy had his back to her, so she could only see he had a head of brown hair and could barely hear him at all, only able to catch drifting words.

"…last night? Saw you…"

"Yeah." Zack rubbed his upper lip with his knuckle, hiding a smirk. Whatever words he spoke then, Aster couldn't hear. "…was a good night."

"Such a… You always…" the Second Class said to him, shoving Zack in the shoulder and garnering a hearty laugh.

Rex nudged Aster with his shin, interrupting her eavesdropping terribly rudely as far as she was concerned. He tilted his head down and cleared his throat. If anyone were looking, they'd think he was talking to his own crotch.

"Hate to break it to you but the squad's heading back to the barracks. You want a hope in hell of getting out of here without being seen, you're gonna have to hurry and hide in the pack, mate."

Aster whimpered to herself. "Alright…"

She snatched one last glimpse of Zack's smiling face before crawling under the length of the table, away from Zack and the Second, and elbowed her way into the centre of the group as they left the room. She got a few weird looks, but they didn't really ask questions anymore.

The door to the barracks slid open, and the back of the recruit in front of her became a solid wall that virtually flattened her nose when he froze in his footsteps. His name was Alcorn or something like that, and she frowned at his severe reaction until she realised he wasn't the only one to come to a standstill.

She side-stepped around him, wedging her comparatively smaller frame between bodies appearing to be suffering from the effects of Petrification or Stop magic. She, too, froze when her booted toes reached sheets on the floor.

"What the…"

Material carnage, again. A mattress was strewn across the floor ahead of her and bedsheets and uniforms littered the ground. Like a cosmic hand had swept through the room, knocking everything in its path. A pillow and a pair of boots, a leather holster, clothes and bandages hung from the frames of the other beds and across the floor. A t-shirt soaked in crusty, old blood clung to a chair like a rag snagged against splintered wood. A duffel bag, torn leggings.

"Wait—"

An encyclopaedic book laid open on the ground on top of a bloodstained shirt that belonged to Tseng, its pages settled on a grotesque image of some giant, troll-like beast that glared at her.

"All of this is my stuff," she realised aloud, voice growing steadily with each piece that fell into place. "All of it."

She grabbed one of the closest standard recruit t-shirts from near Sparrow's feet, and it almost came to pieces in her fingers. Shredded. Tattered. More net than cloth. She threw Rex's helmet from her head so hard it bounced off his thin mattress and onto the floor, shattering one of the eye-like lamps at its front, to get a better look. Her cabinet was the only one open. Completely gutted. Her bedside table was tipped, the drawer pulled out. Even her tampons were scattered across the floor.

She slammed the cabinet door closed, crunching one of the hinges. 'Monster' was scrawled across the door in the very same lipstick that still stained the edges of her lips. Was it the eerie way the lipstick looked like blood that made her bones turn to ice, or the fact that the word was the very one she was afraid to commit to herself?

There was a flick, a catch. A flick. A catch.

Her head snapped to meet the sound. Newberry sat on his bed, a foot propped against his knee, quietly opening and closing her switchblade. Flicking, catching. The dark, empty smile that did not reach his small eyes looked as though it could have been hacked by that blade. Aster could imagine too vividly what the teeth of its serrated edge would feel like as they tugged through the gristle and muscle in his neck. A thought that haunted her features.

The room was silent. Her voice resounded. "Give it back."

When he didn't respond, her fists pulsed. She stormed towards him. "I said. Give. It. Back."

"Earn it back," he said, snatching the corner of the table and dragging it between them, wooden legs squealing against the tiled floor.

He kicked a stool to her and sat opposite her. He swiped an arm, all meat and power across the table, scattering the day's newspapers off the surface like leaves in a strong gust of wind. Fitting for the tornado that had torn through her possessions. Aster caught the headlines as they fanned out beside her feet. 'SHINRA THWARTS SECTOR SIX WUTAI INSURGENT PLAN'. 'BOTTOMFEEDERS COST US HUNDREDS OF THOUSANDS'. 'FOOD SHORTAGE'.

"Stabscotch. Think you can hold your nerve?" Newberry snarled, snapping her out of her daze. "Flinch and it's mine. Hold yourself together, you can have it back."

Rex burst to the forefront of the gathering crowd. "She doesn't have to play your dumb games, Jack—"

"—You fucking got it."

The clap of Rex's palm against his face was loud but not so as the sound of Aster smacking her hand down into the middle of the wooden table. She didn't take her eyes off Newberry, glaring daggers would be to insult the true blades she sent him. Neither did she sit. She towered over him, for a change, elbow locked tightly.

She inhaled through her nose. This was what she was built for. Tseng. Tifa. They made her ready for this.

The air was thick and still beside the breaths of twenty men and one woman. Silent, besides the sound of a switchblade flicking open once more, and clicking into place. The force of his first stab fell between her thumb and forefinger.

Slow. Between her forefinger and middle. She ignored her slightly bruised knuckles, the sickly yellow-green smattering of old bruises and formation of small callouses that would no doubt one day dominate her hands from all her training.

Between her middle and ring finger. Ignored how her fingernails were not as well-kept as they once were since they broke under repeated impact.

The thud entered her ears rhythmically, every now and then one would come off-beat to throw her. She didn't flinch. Just stared deep into his pig-like face with her mouth in a line and her eyes severe. Her body was hard as stone and just as brittle. If Rex—or worse, Zack—had come to lay a hand to settle her, the result would have been a crumble. She was stronger on her own. Oh, wouldn't Tseng have been pleased.

Newberry jabbed the knife faster and faster, precise in his etching into the wood. Aster carved her name into a school desk with a blade once, but this was a very different brand of possession. These were not carvings between lovebirds like 'JS + EA'. These were like claw marks.

She didn't flinch.

With a guttural roar, he rose to his feet and slammed the blade into the table, slicing into the flesh of two of her fingers. Sickened gasps choked out of cadets who thought he wouldn't dare.

The pain was white hot. Aster could feel the blood drain away from her head, and the rush was blinding. The blade stuck out of the wood and the skin of her inner index and middle fingers.

He beat the table with his palms and yelled, "Fine, you fucking win."

With her breath held in her throat, she wrapped her free hand around the handle of the blade with a firm grip and yanked it from its sheath of wood and skin, much to the disgust of anyone who had the guts to watch.

"Don't wanna play anymore, Newberry?" Her lips barely moved with her words as she switched the knife into her bloodied, torn hand—her wielding hand—hot blood trickling over pale fingers and down the spine of the blade. "How about double or nothing? You don't flinch, you can keep my switchblade. I'll even let you have the dress off my back. Pair of my underwear too if you're goddamned sick enough, which I'm quite sure you are."

She leaned over the table with a hunched back to meet him face to face. "But if you flinch, I'll take all my shit back, and you won't dare fucking speak to me until pass out. Deal?"

The nostrils of his flat nose flared like a wild animal preparing a charge. He slammed his hand beside the small pooling of her blood. "Deal."

"Better keep your word." She wrapped her fingers around the handle but found herself unable to use her index finger. Stifling the wince, she set her thumb over the hilt. "For all you go on about your unmatched honour."

He grimaced. "You are one mouthy bitch. You know nothing about honour."

"You're probably not wrong," she said, shaking her head. "I try and do what's right—"

"—Spare me the fucking lecture."

She cocked an eyebrow at him.

The blade tapped between each of his fingers, gently, deftly, picking up the pace. Light, quick drums to the beat of her heart. His shoulders seemed to hunch further with each hit, and his lips pared back to bare his teeth with his scowl.

Aster had stabbed her brother with a sharp pencil lead too many times to count, playing this game. Her hand, bloodied and in the shock of agony, trembled. Still, the blade touched between his twitching fingers. Nerves.

Blood flicked from her spilling wounds onto his skin. She slammed the knife with a dull thud close enough to trim his fingernail. She'd never know if she managed it because Newberry didn't flinch, he flung himself away from the table, staggering back over his chair with choking gasps.

She yanked her blade an inch deep out of the wood and shoved the table out of her way. She snatched her leggings, her old bloodied t-shirt and anything else she could carry in one arm before swiping the blade in the direction of the staring cadets.

"You got something to say?" she snapped, her voice rising into a hysterical screech. "I dare any of you to try me."

Silence.


	16. Heaven Underneath My Skin

**A/N: Hello, everyone! It is something of a miracle that this update is here on time (and it kind of only is because I'm editing this at 1:48 am). I'm excited about the coming chapters! This is actually the farthest I had ever reached in this story, so I was really excited when I wrote this (I have got like another ten chapters ready, but still) and I'm honestly so happy for realising something so personal to me. And I'm enjoying every second of it. Enjoy the brewing shitstorm!**

**Thank you so much **darkbreeze** for the review! Tseng definitely knows a lot of things...but no spoilers here! I'm so happy you're enjoying this story, thank you for sticking with it—that goes for everyone!**

26th Jun '19

* * *

**Chapter 16: Heaven Underneath My Skin**

The halls of the infirmary were a heavenly white, with only the occasional nurse or doctor nipping from one room to the next and one ward to the other. Almost every patient within these walls fell on a scale between mission-related injury and significant training-related accidents. Aster was a bit off that scale.

And thanks to the dress, there was some disruption in convincing the triage nurse that she was not, in fact, a civilian. Stating her employee number several times to several different people was not enough to convince them, so eventually, a direct phone call was made from the infirmary desk to the Department of Administrative Affairs to verify that some blonde chick wasn't just lying for free health care.

After all of which she was finally hurried into a vacant room with a single bed and a plush cream chair, and everything thereafter was incredibly prompt, likely at the behest of Tseng's orders. Being a Turks Selective came with its advantages—priority treatment, even for relatively minor injuries.

Aster stomped into the room, refusing to honour the bed with her presence. She claimed, rather loudly, that she was not 'infirm' and didn't need the goddamn hospital, and instead threw herself into the chair and kicked her legs up onto the bed, crossed at the ankle.

This left Rex, definitely not infirm, with nowhere else to sit besides the bed, so he fluffed up the pillows and got himself comfortable for the wait.

"This is pathetic," she said, spitting the words out like they tasted terrible. "I don't need to be here."

Rex's response came without inflection—save for his usual upward twang. "You can't move your index finger."

"I only need the middle one," she growled, flipping him the bird. It wasn't worth the spiking pain that shot through her hand, though she'd never tell him that.

By the roll of his eyes though, he suspected as much. "Don't take it out on me; I'm not the one who stabbed you."

She held her injured hand above her heart as instructed like she was awaiting a high five that she was glad no one tried to give. The temporary bandaging was thick, itchy, and crimson around the fingers. "You make it sound worse than it is."

"You severed an extensor tendon."

Her nose wrinkled, and her voice came like a whiny child's. "First of all, I don't even know what that is. Second of all, I didn't do anything. Newberry severed my sensor tendon."

"Extensor."

"Whatever."

"Did you even listen to the doctor?" Rex asked like he was talking to said whiny child, folding his arms across his chest and cocking an eyebrow upward.

"He was speaking a different language."

"No, it was definitely—"

"—He was speaking University Words and I didn't go to college." She grew sharp edges where once she might have been softer. "Cut a girl some slack, will you?"

He blew a laugh through his nose and shook his head. "You get tetchy when you're in pain."

"Doesn't even hurt."

"And my arse is an orange, amongst other lies."

She puffed out her chest with her next snipe, but quickly let her lungs deflate with defeat. "You know what, I don't even have the energy to argue with you."

Rex frowned and kicked his legs over the side of the bed, elbows on his knees and chin in his hands. It was almost laughable how his eyebrows folded in concern. But Aster didn't laugh. "Sorry, mate. I was only tryin' to keep your spirits up. I know you're alright when you're being shitty with me."

"What, kick the body and if it squirms, it's probably still alive?"

"Pretty much."

She snorted and smiled for the first time in hours. "What can I say? Pain makes me cranky."

"Can't fault you there."

No amount of Cure spells could rejoin severed sinew if she wanted a functional finger again. Surgery was required. It was fairly important to the Turks that she regained mobility—it was her trigger finger, after all—and so she was whisked to the operating theatre within an hour of arriving.

When she returned to the ward with the doctor at her heels, Rex threw a pile of crass magazines full of fake stories onto the bedside table and sat forward. Aster was scowling.

She lifted her hand, still numb from local anaesthetic, much to the distress of the doctor. "Stitches."

Rex shook his head without expression. "What did you expect?"

"I dunno, surgical glue? Something less invasive?" she said, flopping down into the chair and resting her arm against a small table so the doctor could fit a splint and additional bandaging. "Cure spells? Mako? Anything."

The doctor cleared his throat, shaking the thick, grey moustache that masked his mouth. "The splint is precautionary. You may remove it in the morning if you feel comfortable to do so, as long as you keep up with the regular Regen spells that you have scheduled over the next few days."

"Days? I can't use my hand for days?"

"Without the advanced technology Shinra supplies us, Miss Doe, you'd be looking at a recovery period of ten weeks. 'Days' is but a blink in a year."

She grumbled, putting up a fight for the sake of putting up a fight.

"You may continue training, but you will be dismissed from hand to hand combat for four days. You must begin the physio techniques as early as tomorrow morning; localised Cura spells tend to stiffen the joints," said the doctor, pushing his thick round glasses up his nose until they magnified his watery blue eyes.

"Okay." She sighed the shit day from her shoulders. Not just the pain, not just the surgery, but also the remarks, the altercations, the threat. Newberry. "Thanks for everything, Doc."

"Yeah," Rex said, launching from the bed and shaking the doctor's hand. "Sorry she's such a pain in the ass."

"Hey!"

The stiff grey moustache over the doctor's mouth shook with his chuckles. "You're very welcome. Keep out of harm's way, both."

"We would," said Rex, locking his fingers behind his head, "but she's something of a matador."

"Suck mine, Rex," she said, but her smirk gave away her humour. She supposed he'd lifted her spirits after all.

* * *

The morning arrived and Tseng did not wake her. For once, she didn't overthink it. Didn't try to pick it apart. Didn't try to find out why, or what it meant, or what he was testing her for. She didn't care. It had been a whirlwind weekend, and she was ready to put it behind her.

Insofar, Newberry had upheld his end of the deal. Not only had he not spoken to her, he hadn't granted her eye contact. Such could very well have been due to the fury that drove through his veins and tightened its grip over his every muscle. Aster could see it in his shoulders, how he fought against the tension in his own body.

While Newberry stewed, fit to burst, with white-knuckled grips of his fists wherever he went, Aster was different. Her jaw was set tightly like she was moulding a gum shield, and her eyes were narrower than usual. Together their moods stank the room out.

However, Aster walked with her head high and her shoulders back. She didn't cower in the toilets during showers anymore. Damp though she was, she threw on her underwear, wrapped herself in a towel, and strode back to her bedside to dress.

They were equals. She'd damn shown them that. The cabinet clattered into the wall with the force she opened it with, not yet cooled off from the events of the day before—even after a cold shower—and rummaged one-handedly through her new collection of ruined uniforms.

"Uh, mate?" Rex asked tentatively, as though expecting the girl to whirl around and snap his head off. As she laid down a tattered cadet t-shirt against her bed, he said, "You want some of my clothes? I mean, I know they'll be a bit big on you, but you'll cope with some significant rolling up of the legs."

"Thanks, but it's alright." Then she pointedly raised her voice so that the one trying his best not to hear her couldn't possibly block her out. "I won't let anyone think they can humiliate me or heighten my vulnerability through something as petty as shredding my clothing." She stared at Newberry. "I won't be a victim."

With which, she pulled on the least destroyed combat fatigues she had. She shot a glare at a boy across the room who was paying slightly too much attention to her dressing before yanking on her shirt. It appeared the fierce determination in the form of flames behind her eyes was enough to convince Rex. He smirked and flashed his brows up at her.

"Ballsy," he said, and his smirk caught alight on her face.

Honestly, they just encouraged each other's bad behaviour.

One of her pant legs was completely missing the front of the thigh, ripped at one of the pockets, and the other was shredded beyond repair like a cat had been bundled in it and scratched itself a hole out. As for the shirt, well, it was missing a sleeve, and most of her midriff bared the elements in stroke-like streaks. Suspiciously like someone had run a dagger through it a few times. Her helmet was good, though, and she re-splinted her hand merely for the sympathy vote from her DI. She didn't want him to kill her, after all. Leave her blue and bruised, but at least leave her breathing. She wasn't an idiot. She knew it was coming.

At least her boots were intact. She stood in formation on the track with the others awaiting the incoming lashing. She anticipated Hell's fury. Got Hellfire.

But not before the two-mile run of the morning, of course.

And so, panting and sweating profusely—by this time somewhat pleased that she was effectively wearing less than usual—she set her jaw, staring forward but avoiding the DI's face as he torrented abuse down and over her. Was just the guy's job. Nothing personal. Not like with Newberry.

"What in the name of all that is holy—" was virtually all that Aster heard from his barrage for a long while. She tuned him out.

"Do you have an explanation, Doe," he screamed from a blistering red face, snapping her back to reality.

"No, sir," she said. Not a grass. Not hiding. She stood a little taller.

"Your clothes just spontaneously shredded, cadet?"

"Sorry, sir. Will get it fixed, sir."

"Did you not think to wear someone else's clothing, idiot?"

She paused. "No, sir."

A faint hint of something like amusement touched her eyebrow. Rex would have been the only one to catch it. He would later go on to tell her that the Tseng vibes were really starting to give him the creeps and kinda turn him on at the same time. She had laughed for about twelve minutes.

Tseng appeared sometime amongst the screaming. The Turk's mouth opened as if he were going to say something, but then he took one look at the state of his cadet's uniform and simply closed his mouth again.

"Staff," he said, with a nod. "And," he sighed, dragging his eyes up her body. "Doe."

She stood to attention as though nothing had changed.

"I'll handle this," he said to the DI, then turned back to Aster. "Infirmary. Your appointment."

"Sir."

On his cue, she marched out of PT, feeling Newberry's silenced eyes on her back. She didn't turn.

* * *

The room she was admitted to for her first round of Regen spells—or second if you counted the post-op cast—fit only a chair, a desk, and racks of materia and medical supplies. The nurse worked silently, unwrapping Aster's bandages, while Tseng pressed his back into the door and folded his arms. He regarded Aster coolly. "What was it this time?"

She rolled her eyes. "So accusatory."

"Enough of the attitude, Doe. Snap out of it."

Like he'd offered her a blessing, her shoulders sagged from the dragging weight of her hard-worked bravado. She swore Tseng shook his head. She swore further that she heard him mutter: unbelievable.

"I didn't do anything."

"I find that difficult to believe."

Explaining took the better part of ten minutes between the poking and prodding around of her stitches with Cure and Regen spells. None felt quite as nice as the time Zack had healed her nose, though, but she supposed it wasn't worth injuring herself just to ask him to make it better, as tempting as that may be.

Tseng listened with narrowed eyes, nodding every so often to urge her onward, to prompt detail. He listened long past the point that he would usually tire of her descriptive liberties—accurate as they were. Often Tseng wanted the short of it. This time, it was like he was recording her, committing every word she uttered to memory where it might come useful. Like a scribe was etching her words into his brain. Making a plan. Putting pieces together.

Aster pursed her lips. She was used to other people—especially Tseng—knowing more than they cared to share with her. This was evidently no exception.

"What was I supposed to do?" she said bitterly, letting her hands fall to her sides, one significantly gentler than the other. "Send Newberry a signal saying 'yup, you got me, good job. I am weak!' Or, send him one saying 'listen here you giant piece of dung, I don't live by your rules, I make my own—this is my goddamn body and my life, and I'm sure as hell not gonna let you get in my way'? Spoiler alert: I chose the latter."

Tseng brushed his chin with his hand. "I think you made the correct choice."

Her head reclined in shock. Wind knocked from her lungs. "…Really?"

A small noise of assent rose from somewhere from his throat. "I could imagine Cissnei having the same response. And perhaps myself, if I were in a similar situation."

Eyes wide, she was about to utter her thanks but was interrupted before she had the chance. "Of course," he said, "I would never have found myself in that position in the first place."

Aster shrugged. "I'll take it."

"Anyhow," he said. "I will arrange for a new set of uniforms to be dispensed to you. In the meantime, you will be permitted to wear half of the Turks uniform."

"No way," she yelled, over-excitedly.

Tseng pressed a finger to his temple and squeezed his eyes shut in response. "Keep it down. You're not getting the jacket."

That was how Aster found herself in Skill at Arms training that afternoon in a fitted white blouse and black suit trousers that swept cleanly to her booted heels. Sure, she had the cadet helmet on, but still. The feel of the soft blouse against her skin renewed her determination to get into the Turks.

Newberry did dare a glare, but her attention was absent. The presence of a particular member of SOLDIER swept it away. Her heart fluttered, and she found herself biting down on her lip to stop herself from looking, to stop herself from trembling from the anticipation of his mere presence. Heat rose to her cheeks and she hadn't even looked at him. She actually had to pinch her injured finger just to bring herself back down to Gaia.

That night hadn't left her yet; the memory was still fresh. She wasn't even sure it would ever leave her.

Pistol in hand with elbows locked straight, she adjusted her grip to conceal her stitches. In her distraction, she had forgotten this pistol was a dummy, laser-firing useless thing, not the real one to which she had grown accustomed. As such, she stood too rigidly, expecting a recoil that wouldn't come. She was a stone, but she couldn't help it. Not while he was standing behind her.

Her laser dragged off the target and up the wall when she felt a harm hand against her back and another lifting her wrists, adjusting her posture. Breath caught in her throat. The warmth that radiated from his body enveloped her, intoxicating and attractive, and settled a cloud over her awareness and heightened it only to him at the same time—like cotton wool in her ears under the water, but a feather brushing down her spine clear as a breath of wind. She consciously breathed through her mouth—she couldn't afford to get lost in his scent.

"You need to relax," he said, completely unaware, "when you tense, it makes you tremble. When you tremble, you miss."

Closing her eyes brought her straight back to the ballroom, his hand against her skin, lips inches from hers. If she just turned her head… She swallowed as subtly as she could possibly manage. It felt wrong—it was wrong—to enjoy his company so when he didn't even know he was in hers. She strangled her voice and 'cleared her throat' to distort it.

"Then, with all due respect, sir… I'm going to need you to get out of my personal space."

He laughed outright. "Sorry, kid. Do it right next time and I won't pick on you."

Backing away with his signature slap on the shoulder and moving on to fix the posture of the cadet next over, she immediately missed his presence. The air was cold without him there. She was cold without him there.

She tried not to watch him walk away.

* * *

It had been almost a week since the stabscotch incident. Though Newberry and Aster weren't speaking, the tension between them still grew and had nowhere to blow. The barracks became an out and out pressure cooker. Conversation lessened. The atmosphere stuck to the neck like sweat, even long after the room was empty. Things were better for the other cadets when they were fighting. Now, though, the barracks were so saturated with gasoline, allowing them to come to sparks might have disastrous consequences.

When training was relinquished to allow time for the cadets to complete their individual ten-week fitness charts, Aster found herself with nothing to do. Her pass out to the infantry—providing she survived that long—was guaranteed. She was a Selective, not a candidate, after all. She seethed over the thought, then jumped from her cross-legged position on the bed. She could think of a thousand better things to do than sit in that dingy little pressure cooker, and one she'd like to do more than most. After throwing on some different clothes, she headed for HQ.

The ground floor, Reception, was sprawling. The floor tiles were so glossy they appeared wet, reflecting the lights above them like mirrors. It pooled beyond her, reaching a glass sculpture of the Shinra logo that stood twice as high as she. Grand staircases ran either side, winding to the second and third floors, draped in blue and red carpeting.

Aster approached the desk staffed by a few receptionists, ran off their feet by phone calls but smiling at visitors all the same. Executives in expensive suits rushed past and around her as though on fast forward and she was stuck on pause. Visitors stuck out in the loop, with their mouths hanging open at the enormity of the corporate machine. Aster figured that was what she'd looked like when she had first been brought to this building. Sure felt like a long time ago now.

Today she had a different goal, and couldn't use her temporary employee keycard to commit it. A receptionist, with a dazzling smile and false eyelashes so long that her eyelids must have been tired holding them up, provided Aster with a guest pass for selected floors up to forty-nine, upon receipt of her employee ID.

Aster hung the bright orange lanyard around her neck, thanked the pleasant receptionist and headed to the glass elevators beside the stairs.

Inside the glass tube, she swiped the keycard attached to her lanyard and pressed the button for the highest floor of her given permissions. She didn't exactly know where she was going, but hey, she was sure she'd find it soon enough.

The platform sucked her straight upwards and out of the ground and lower floors, quickly sweeping her alongside the outer wall of the building so she could enjoy the view. Alone in the elevator, she could really appreciate the effects of daylight on Midgar, and how the sun burned through the spit of Mako in the air and made it glow brighter, and how the bustle of trains and vehicles on the tracks and highways were so much more visible in the mid-afternoon light.

And more so, she realised just how much far you could see as the lift brought her ever higher—she could even see the cliffside and sloping mountains that were famous in Kalm's backdrop in the distance. The grasslands couldn't be far beyond those. She kind of wished she was headed for floor sixty-seven again, so she could get an even better view, then quickly bit her tongue and scolded to herself that she needed to be more careful what she wished for. The cells were on sixty-seven, after all.

The door opened with a quiet ping, and she stepped out into a corridor of slate-like flooring and grey-wash walls, with an incredible waiting area both to her left and right with modern couches and coffee tables looking out of spotless ceiling height windows. A Third Class SOLDIER was lounging across one while a Second loomed over him, arms crossed firmly over his chest. Aster tried not to giggle at how little the Third seemed to care about whatever he'd done to piss off his commanding Second, and breezed past them as if she knew where she was going.

'Conference', 'Briefing', 'VRS', 'Training Room', 'Materia Fusion'. Not remotely what she wanted. Okay, maybe that last one was interesting, but it wasn't what she needed right now.

More hallways, more corridors, more members of SOLDIER, and more doorways later, and she looked like she was coming into luck. She gently knocked on the door to an office space with a Zack Fair's name on.

"If it's Angeal I'm not here!"

The door whispered open and Aster suppressed a laugh. "That ever fooled him?"

He sprang into motion, kicking his feet off the desk and knocking a stack of files onto the floor. His wide eyes met hers then he doubled over with a hand to his chest. "Yikes, I seriously thought you were Angeal for a minute there."

"We do have the same imposing figure," she said smirking. Heat surged over her shoulders—she wasn't supposed to know Angeal. Then remembered the man was practically famous, so never mind.

The cracks were beginning to show.

"I'm not sure I could swing Angeal around the dance floor in quite the same way," said Zack with a grin.

"Now that's something I'd like to see." She tugged at the lanyard around her neck. "I hope I didn't interrupt anything."

"Nah," he said, rubbing the back of his head, making his hair sway. "Angeal wanted me to get that—" when he pointed to the desk where the papers had been and subsequently realised they were strewn across the floor, he merely adjusted his arm and pointed at the floor instead. "Uh, that done by, like, last week or somethin'. I've been real busy."

"Eating chips?" she asked with her tongue in her cheek, nodding towards the open sharing bag on his desk. She gathered the files by her feet and placed them back on the table.

"Chip-eating does take a good portion of my work schedule, but that's not all!"

She tucked her hands into each other behind her back. "That and trouble-making?"

"Only as much as you, I'm sure." His lips quirked into a grin as he crossed the room towards her and leaned back against the desk. "What brings you here?"

Her cheeks took a questionable shade of pink, but she spoke despite her misfiring nerves. "I wanted to see if you were free to come out for lunch with me."

"Sounds great, I'm starving."

His tongue peeped over his straight white teeth with his smile, and it washed her with relief. She grinned. "Giant bag of chips not enough for you?"

"So judgmental," he said, eliciting a laugh from her lips. "I know a place that does these amazing burgers downtown."

"You know a lot of food places."

"I have a spreadsheet," he said, advancing on her until he was close enough to trail his fingers down her arms to her hands, a mischievous smile taking his features.

"Ah," she said with a cocky smirk, looking up into his Mako lit eyes, "a man after my own heart."

Her overconfidence melted immediately, much to Zack's apparent amusement. He was probably about to come back with some cheeky rebuttal, something to further blush her cheeks, but when he slipped his fingers between hers and she tensed, she gave the game away. His fingertips brushed her stitches.

"Whoa, Aster." He brought her hand up to inspect the stitch-work closer. "What happened to your fingers?"

"Oh, uh, it was an accident."

Up quirked one of his eyebrows. Her half-nod didn't convince him. "You know, 'oh, uh' sounds a lot like a prefix to a lie."

She couldn't help but snort, partially from nerves (because he was just kidding, right? He wasn't a mind-reader), as she forcibly stopped herself from repeating 'oh, uh' by pressing a finger to her lips. "It's fine, honestly. It doesn't even hurt anymore. It was just an ac—incident."

Incident was closest to the truth.

"You sure?" he asked, lips barely moving with the words. He turned her fingers gently, looking them both over. "The city can be a pretty rough place. I know you live topside, but you work in the slums, and there are monsters and stuff down there. Look, if you get into any trouble, let me know, okay?"

She chewed the insides of her cheeks and gave him a smile somewhere between genuine and forced. "Okay…" she said, then an indisputably honest grin overtook her. "But you have to let me know if you're in any trouble, too."

Blissfully unaware of how much she meant it and how genuinely capable of proving it she was, he smiled. "Deal."

Zack led her from the office and down a short corridor, through some double doors and to a different set of elevators from which she came. They opened to the swipe of his keycard, and he followed her into the elevator when it recognised his employee ID.

It was small and a traditional box and mirrors elevator, nothing fancy like the main lobby glass lifts. The ground floor button lit yellow under Zack's knuckle as he pressed it before he proceeded to lean into the handrail. He folded his arms across his chest, his sword clattering against the metal behind him, smirking faintly like he knew something she didn't.

The elevator bobbed and began its descent. Forty-nine, forty-eight, forty-seven, the large monitor above the door read. When she noticed Zack's eyes on hers, she smiled and tentatively set her fingers upon his folded arms. "What're you smiling at?"

"You, I—" he was interrupted by a deafening bang from none too far beyond the walls.

The elevator rattled in response. It ground to a halt. The collision of the brakes forced both into a stumble, Aster clinging to Zack's arms and he to her and the railing. The lights flickered off.

Aster flitted her eyes through the darkness, trying to adjust, find some hint of light. Nothing. So she sought to make his eyes out through blackness. "What's going on?"

Only for their breathing was there a single sound.

Zack looked at her for seven long seconds and swallowed hard. The emergency light flashed on, burning their skin with its red glare.

An alarm blasted. One Aster had heard before. Squeezing his arm, she shot her eyes back to find clues in his, heart beginning to race. She hoped for answers or at least reassurance. But he didn't have any to give.

"Zack?"

"Shit."


	17. Breaking and Entering

**A/N: Okay, huge apologies for flaking out on last week's update. Recently I guess I've been seriously doubting my ability to write anything worth reading, but anyway. I'm super sorry, I felt so unbelievably guilty about it—I beat myself up about it for the whole week!**

**And honestly, it's some kind of out and out miracle that this chapter is on time (although late in the day), too! I've been travelling all day with very little internet access so I thought it was going to end up being tomorrow!**

**Enough of that though! I actually freaking love this chapter. I'm not kidding or over-exaggerating when I say that I wrote the very first incarnation of this scene in 2012. Yeah. I mean it was cruder then, and I've changed it a lot, but the basic premise is exactly the same. Kind of love it a bit (lot) or at least I love how it plays in my head, haha. And also, I've got some SUPER SNEAKY foreshadowing in this chapter that is literally having me dying right here, right now. It's super, super subtle, honest. The words will mean absolutely nothing until later on, probably about, I dunno, Chapter 35? That's my guess. I have no idea, I haven't written it yet, but that is my sort of prediction. We'll see how close I am, haha. If you ever come back in future and re-read this chapter then I'm hoping the response will be HOLY SHIT IT LITERALLY SAYS IT RIGHT THERE ALL ALONG. But it's so subtle. Might not even pick it up then! **

**Also: Storey is the UK English spelling when regarding floor heights in buildings—I hope it doesn't put you off too much if you don't use UK spellings where you are from!**

**Hope you are having a beautiful week. Stay well, friends!**

10th Jul '19

* * *

**Chapter 17: Breaking and Entering**

"Zack," Aster said, forcing her words to come out stronger than her chest was feeling them. When his eyes drifted away from her face, she squeezed his corded forearms with a jolt of desperation. "I need you to tell me what's happening."

His resolve must have steeled because he met her imploring gaze again. "We have to get out of here. The building's under attack.

Her jaw nearly hit the ground. _Again? _she almost cried, but caught herself before it slipped. "An attack? On Shinra?"

An emergency announcement wailed through an intercom. "_Actual causality. Actual causality. HQ security breach, repeat, HQ security breach. This is not a drill. All citizens to be evacuated immediately. Sephiroth to President. Rhapsodos and Turks divide between Floor Forty-Five and Sixty-Seven, lead SOLDIER Second Classes. Hewley and Fair, report to the First and Ground Floor, respectively, lead Thirds. Infantry to grounds. Remaining Firsts, report to stations. This is not a drill. I repeat. Actual causality—_"

"Sounds like my cue," said Zack.

"Not until we get out of here, it's not."

The light was so low and erratic as the emergency beacon rotated that Aster couldn't make out any hatches or panels. She hammered the buttons on the control panel, hoping the optimistically labelled 'eject' and 'emergency' buttons might bring effect, but the lights behind them had died and the panel was completely unresponsive. She smacked it with the palm of her hand. "Come on, there's got to be a way out in emergencies, right?"

"If there's a power cut, yeah," Zack muttered. "But the alarm system overrides the generator. The elevators are 'SOLDIER-proof'. Figured that if you could trap a member of SOLDIER in here, you could trap any intruders."

Aster remembered a seminar she took way back in Stage One of training describing precisely that principle. At the time, she hadn't thought anything of it. She shook her head in disbelief. "That is the dumbest thing I have ever heard."

Zack reached for a handle near a fault line that Aster could barely make out through the darkness. He yanked the bar, but it looked like his shoulder would sooner dislocate than the catch unlock. "It's no good. Without power it only opens from the other side."

"Are you—" Her voice came out nearly a screech. "Okay, I stand corrected—that is the dumbest thing I've ever heard!"

He snorted, diverting his gaze to the door—sealed shut. "You've got attitude problems."

She followed his line of sight, trying to work out his train of thought. Her answer was autonomous. "And here I was trying to hide that fact from you for a little longer."

"Don't bother, I like it," he said with a flash of a grin.

But their frivolity was suspended by an inhuman shriek that vibrated through the metal walls and struck their spines.

After her bones shivered, Aster muttered, "Maybe we're safer in here."

Zack didn't seem to notice. He ran his palm down the split between the doors and squeezed his fingers into the tight gap. SOLDIER-proof doors.

She raised an eyebrow. "You're not seriously—"

Sure enough, the doors began to pry apart. Zack's muscles quivered against the strain of the weight. "Oh my Goddess," she breathed, as he adjusted himself, pushing one door away with his foot and using two hands on the other.

"Crap," he said, seeing a blank cement wall before them, "we're between floors."

Aster leaned out of the elevator, trusting him to keep the doors open for long enough not to decapitate her. She rested her hand against the wall outside and checked the gap between the elevator and the shaft. Around a foot of room, not a lot, just enough to fall through. Didn't check out the drop. That'd just psych her out.

Zack was just on the verge of begging her to get back inside before she fell out—since his leg was effectively the only thing serving as a fence between her and very sudden death—when she pushed herself back and safe in the elevator. When he let go, the doors slammed shut with such force he winced, and the lift rattled again.

She brushed the dust from her hands. "There's enough room for me to squeeze out."

"What?" His voice bounced from the steel floor and mirrored walls. Volume control was not often his strongest suit. "You can't be serious, it's way too dangerous."

"What else are we gonna do?" They could hear an intercom blaring beyond the shaft, a muffled wail: Threat Level Three. Apparently, the intercom inside the elevator gave up the ghost. Didn't bode well for the power supply to the light then, either. Aster shook her head. "C'mon. If it's any consolation, if I had your strength I'd open the doors for you instead, but that's just not a possibility."

As if she needed to prove it, she wedged her fingers between the doors and pulled. Prying the door open with her foot as Zack had helped none. The door gave only a few inches, slipped from her fingers. Slammed shut.

"If you fall, you'll die," he said, stressing on the obvious.

"If we don't get you out of here, more people will die out there." Threat Level Four, the alarm screamed, faint, like a shadow in the distance. Aster shook her head, feeling the familiar heat of panic growing beneath her skin. "They need your help."

"Keeping you safe is more important."

"You don't mean that!"

He stole her by the waist. "Maybe I'm selfish."

The intensity of his gaze shook her foundations, but she shook her head. Zack Fair was a lot of things. Selfish was not one of them.

"But I know that you're not," she said gently.

His shoulders fell after a beat, proving he knew she was right. One flash of the beacon lit an anxious touch on Zack's features. By the next flash, it was gone. Aster's pretended she hadn't noticed.

She patted the centre of his chest. "Trust me."

As though magnetic, she couldn't take her hands away. It was impossible, for his grip on her waist hadn't yet lessened.

"You die like this and I'll never forgive myself," he said quietly.

A glint caught light in Aster's eyes by the match struck in her smile. "I promise I'll let you mope as much as you want if I do, in fact, die here."

"Holy crap, you're gutsy," he said somewhat bewildered. He shook out his wrists and took a rooted stance near the door.

She spoke with a smirk, ignoring how her hips turned cold from his missing touch. "It's part of the charm."

It was mainly part of the façade, but if it's all the same…

Perhaps against his better judgement, Zack heaved open the doors. His arms like a reverse vice.

Aster sucked a deep breath through her nose, filtering bravery from her nerves. She ducked under his arm, holding onto his waist and ordering her shaking feet. Face to face with him, back to the wall, her held breath quivered out.

Her heels suspended over nothingness. The forty storey drop looked inviting. Inky black, a thick embrace, like falling wouldn't hurt but instead envelop her and pull her slowly.

Most storeys of the Shinra Building were double-height or greater, so the drop was, by her best guess, at least six hundred feet. She could fall that in six seconds. Six seconds and a grip on Zack's waist was all between her and a blunt knock off the mortal coil. Her fingers twitched against him.

"You scared?" He spoke as if his voice might blow her over the edge.

"Yeah," she said. Finally her eyes pulled away from the fall. "But I can be brave, too."

It was the fatigue etched into Zack's muscles that forced her to come to courage. But even on her tiptoes, with a hand on his shoulder for balance, her fingertips only barely scraped the lip of the roof. She would have to jump.

The overwhelming pressure of time consumed her, but not in the movement of seconds. Rather in staccato beats of distant firearms, and groans. Deep, guttural groans that couldn't possibly be human. Yet it all sounded so far away.

She jumped. She didn't want to wager how many bullets or explosions or shrieks and screams she'd need to hear before Zack's limbs would give to the crush of the doors.

Hanging there, the infinite darkness hit her. This was crazy.

It would have hit Zack then, too, she knew, as she shimmied to the right to gain a foothold against the box instead of flailing in the doorway. Hit him pretty hard, actually, because Zack Fair, SOLDIER First Class, youngest of his rank, invincible and unstoppable, was powerless. A feeling he would not have been used to.

No amount of abnormal speed or engineered strength would help him if she were to fall. While he possessed the reflexes to catch her, the door would take him before he could reach. Maybe he'd survive with just broken ribs, bruised organs and a punctured lung. Probably. But not without listening to her screams follow her to a hard end.

He didn't breathe, because breathing would have weakened his stance. And since he didn't breathe, he didn't speak. He didn't close the doors, either, even though he now could have. Somehow, the obsessive, destructive gaze he held on her felt like a leg up. He was there. Powerless or not. And somehow, that alone was powerful.

By now he could have closed the doors to rest his screaming limbs. He didn't. Wouldn't take his eyes off her. "You got this," he said.

Her fingers threatened to snap off, so she yanked herself up, back scraping against the shaft wall like sandpaper, ripping the skin over her shoulder blades.

A groan that rivalled those from beyond the wall tore through her throat as she lunged for a steel fixture on top of the roof. Her fingers brushed it and slipped.

Her scream curdled blood. A scream that went on to haunt Zack's dreams.

"SHIT," she yelped as her back and head slammed back into the cement behind her, before swinging face-first into the elevator wall again. Swaying limply by one hand as sparks flew across her vision. The flesh of her armpit stretched, muscles yanked. Sweat ran down her neck.

Zack spat a few choice words and jerked forwards. "You alright?"

She was convinced—downright certain—that her heart was beating so hard that the elevator throbbed with it. Unable to speak, think, or breathe, she nodded and reached for the roof again.

She couldn't feel her brittle fingers. Yet she dragged her body up and secured a new grip on some kind of piping. Her elbow jutted outwards as she twisted it into an uncomfortable position in the narrow space to lift her ribs over the lip of the roof. She reached for the thick, wound cable that held the elevator aloft, and with a loud, pained groan that reverberated through the empty space, she dragged herself onto the top of the roof of the metal cage. She rolled over with a thump, shuddering. "Holy shit."

Air forcibly rushed back into Zack's lungs at the sound of her voice. The loudest sound in the chamber.

"You okay up there?" he yelled, but he couldn't mask the shaking undertones of his voice. He still hadn't closed the damned door yet. Wasn't going to, either, not until he was absolutely sure she wasn't going to fall to her death. He couldn't possibly have forgotten about the strain in his body, but maybe there were just more important things to think about.

"I'm fine," she called back, breathlessly, dragging herself onto all fours. Breathily hysterical. "Ha! SOLDIER-proof, my ass, huh?"

"Hilarious."

Delirious.

Not willing to trust her balance, she didn't get up. She grabbed a red-painted handle and yanked the stiff bar. It probably hadn't been utilised since installation. It took both hands, but the bolt unstuck and the crank gave. The little trap door caved in.

She leaned into it with a grin, offering Zack her hand.

An inviting hand. The doors slammed closed, and his hand slipped into hers. Tight. Not willing to let go to the tremors of the rattling elevator. He heaved himself through the small hole without letting go.

Aster collapsed back into the metal that her fried nerves now recognised as cold. Sat with their legs tangled together. "Oh my Goddess," she breathed because there was really no more to say. She squeezed Zack's hand, hoping that if she were firm, he wouldn't feel her trembling. "What kind of emergency escape is that?" She shook her head. "Normal people can't pry open doors. If one of us had been alone…"

She trailed off. Her eyes dove over the edge and into the darkness. A few storeys or so down, following a corded cable, the outline of a second broken-down elevator loomed.

As she leaned over the edge, Zack's free hand took hold of her waist instinctively. Eerie echoes from the world on the other side of the shaft circled in the lofty space above them.

Her ribs rattled with a heavy exhale, and as if in response, Zack wrapped his arms around her shoulders. He said she was shaking. She said it was shock. Only then, as she wrapped her arms around his middle, did she realise how weak her body grew.

"If I can make it so that you never have to do anything like that ever again," he said, tucking his face into her neck so his lips just barely brushed her skin, "I'm gonna do it."

Guilt ran her through with a blade. If he couldn't stand this, he'd never approve of what she did. He would never accept her life as an agent in the same military as he. She bit back the pain and swallowed it down as her skin burned under his breath. Her collarbone on fire.

He slowly pulled away with heavy eyelids and a swollen heart. His thumb dragged across her jaw to her neck, and his bright blue eyes trailed from hers to her lips.

A breath whistled over her drying mouth as he leaned into her, and his nose brushed against hers. It was one moment,

interrupted.

Splintering steel screeched from ten to fifteen storeys above. The doors and wall blasted into the shaft with the shower of an unconfined explosion. Aster and Zack ducked under their arms to protect themselves from the slew of debris over their heads.

Zack yanked Aster's hand to stand as one of the doors crashed mere feet from them, and the other blew into the empty space. It clattered into the other elevator beside them, bounced off it, and fell down and down into the six hundred feet of darkness below.

Light streamed from the gaping hole. From it, an unholy axe no smaller than the full length of Aster's body cleaved through the air, carving clean through the steel-wound cables that held the elevator aloft. Counterweight sliced away, brakes failed, the elevator began its rapid descent.

They looked at one another for less than a split second. "Jump!" Zack yelled.

Aster couldn't stop the scream before it came, but it was lost under the rumble of the falling steel box crunching against the failed brakes. They landed atop of the other elevator with the horrific thud of Zack's back against metal.

Heart in her gaping mouth, she stared at Zack wide-eyed until the screeching of concrete and iron plummeted to a deafening crunch deep in the bottom of death. The sound reverberated back up the shaft like the aftershock of an earthquake, a thousand times louder, pounding in their ears and heads.

So too did her heart pound against her chest as she lay strewn over Zack, unable to move.

Her body shivered against his, not yet having had the experience or exposure to cope with shock in the same way Zack did. She quivered from head to foot. Moments slower and they would have been dead. Had they decided to wait in the relative safety of the elevator instead of risking the climb out, they would have been dead. Irrevocably, undeniably dead.

It begged the question: why wait?

There is no perfect time or perfect moment if the end takes you before you can seize it.

Aster grabbed the ribbed-knit fabric of his turtleneck in loose, trembling fists, and pressed her lips to his. Time slowed. Her body melted against his. She couldn't breathe and didn't need breath either, because if this was her last, maybe she could be okay with that.

She pulled away and released his shirt, his breath filling her lungs. It may have been heaven underneath her skin, but hell was around them.

Zack spoke in barely more than a whisper, still so close that his lips brushed hers with his words. "We have to move."

A deep breath hitched in her throat. She closed her eyes and nodded faintly. He sat up and kissed her again, firm, quick, then broke open the seal on the escape hatch to check for stuck passengers. The thought hadn't even crossed her mind until Zack was thoughtful enough to check. Trapped in her small world as always.

There was no one else, besides.

"This is Shinra. All citizens evacuated. "The alarm was louder this time, travelling through the hole in the wall far above.

Zack shook his head and tugged at the guest pass around Aster's neck. "One to go."

She couldn't bring herself to respond.

"Enemy threat Level Five conditions met, that's Level Five conditions met. I repeat- "

Aster pulled herself to her feet by the cabling, willing her knees to hurry up and solidify. She brushed herself free of the shock in her system—or rather buried it—and pressed a hand to her chest in the hope of relieving her throbbing heart. "What does that mean?"

"It's getting worse," he said, standing to meet her. "But I gotta get you outta here first. See that ladder there?"

He pointed to the rungs embedded in the concrete, running against the wall of the doors starting a few feet above their heads. "That's our way out. We can use it to get to an air vent. Can I give you a leg up?" he asked, already folding his hands into each other in a foothold.

With a deft touch to his shoulder to steady herself, she hopped onto Zack's hands and allowed him to launch her up. She climbed up just high enough to leave space for Zack to grab on then, holding tightly with one hand, leaned back to reach out for him with the other. Flashing her a smile, he jumped and snatched her hand and the ladder beneath her.

Their steps against the concrete bars echoed around them as they began the climb.

"Nice view," he called.

"Don't make me kick you off."

Zack laughed to himself until light humour couldn't float the loads on their shoulders any longer.

And as if summoned, a scream signalled that the end of their troubles hadn't been delivered just yet. Inhuman, shrill like nails on a chalkboard, and directly above them, stood an enormous beast from that hole in the wall high over.

It was at least fifteen foot tall and just as wide. Huge arms were sheathed in an olive-tinted armour, in a style Aster was sure she'd seen before, that covered most of its leathery, purple skin. Horns protruded from its skull, for skewering, no doubt, but more fearsomely it wielded a club of which was identical in size to the axe that had cut through the industrial steel-capped cabling of the other elevator like butter with a hot knife. And this looked just as capable. It leaned from its floor and lobbed the giant mace through the shaft straight for them.

Zack launched himself up several rungs like a cat to shield Aster's body with his own, curling around her and preparing to tank the blow. By the luck Aster prayed for, the weapon barely glanced his shoulder guard with a hell of a clang, but the close scrape whipped their exposed skin with the cleaved wind of its path. But despite the threat, she stared up into the face of the beast and her jaw fell low—she recognised the monster: Vajradhara Tai. From her book of fiends. It was her turn to be completely powerless.

But Zack wasn't. He balled his hand into a tight, white-knuckled fist, muscles tensed and strained. His veins, then his skin and hand glowed blue, growing an orb of frigid energy the size of a bowling ball that lit her eyes and face. His hand shook under the intensity before he thrust it toward the beast, releasing the globe of magic to shoot like a missile and embed into the monster's gut.

Nothing happened. Not until the glowing orb exploded from inside the monster into a thousand spears of ice. Shrapnel and shards and glittering flakes of snow shot in every single direction.

Zack tucked himself around Aster as splintering, glass-like projectiles tore small holes in his uniform and grazed his back. But she couldn't look away. The monster, with javelins of ice pierced through its skin, fell paralysed from its perch and collapsed into the remaining elevator beneath them, crumbling the mechanisms under its weight and plunging both down to meet its companion at the bottom of the shaft. Screeching all the way to its bitter end. Errant shards bit straight into her cheekbone and arms, but it was worth the sight.

Sparkling mites of ice like floating diamonds suspended through the shaft. Goddess, it got cold. Like back home. Yet it was gorgeous. Aster had no idea that materia and Zack's strength could combine to be so breathtakingly beautiful and powerful, deadly.

He was so unassuming. But he was also youngest of his class. A prodigy. He was who he was for a reason.

"Shit, these are definitely Wutaian," he said, resting his still slightly glowing—and absolutely freezing—hand atop of Aster's on one of the rungs by mistake and left it there as a happy accident.

She frowned and turned her head to face his, blood cresting her cheek from its icy incision. "What, like the last ones weren't?"

"No, well, I didn't mean," he stumbled over his words. Then it was his turn to crease his brow. "Wait, how do you know about last time?"

"Oh—uh, Tifa told me. They got into her training room."

"Right," he said and squeezed her hand before climbing down around her so she could continue her ascent. "That was what we call an anti-SOLDIER unit. It's Wutaian, but they didn't send these last time. I think they breed 'em or something. They're bad news."

"And we know there's at least one more up there, 'cause one of them threw that axe in here and broke that cable. Double bad news," she said, clambering up quicker than before, eager to get out of the hellhole, even for the good it brought. Her lips tingled.

Zack, unusually sombre, merely replied, "If there's only one more we wouldn't be on threat level five."

At the top of the ladder, still some five storeys shy of the hole in the wall from which horrible screams and clashes of steel emanated, Aster crawled into the duct space, knees clanging awkwardly against the thin metal not meant to support the bodyweight of two fully-sized adults. She resorted to sliding her knees across instead to minimise the noise out of paranoia, but you know, she didn't feel like getting shot at from below from soldiers Wutai or Shinra because someone suspicious was trawling through the air vents. Zack wisely followed her lead.

They met with a metal grill at the end of the vent, through which small voices travelled. She pressed a finger to her lips. Zack nodded. The vent was almost pitch dark, save for the blades of light through the grate that lit Aster's face with golden threads. But it's easier to listen in the dark.

Voices of short and choppy language. Rough and harsh. She recognised it from the slums. The words screamed in her face by the guard and leader in Sector Six bottomside. Not the same, but 'actually Wutaian' was right. She pushed the grate with her palm. It creaked, didn't budge. She peered through it instead.

She held up two fingers to Zack. Two men—no, three, no, more—she corrected, adding digits until she was holding seven. She searched for bodies—alive ones, Wutaian ones. Found a few. But there were too many library shelves in the way of a perfect view. But there couldn't have been any fighting. Not enough noise for fighting.

Chatting, barking, giving orders? Sounds coming from different directions. Rummaging. Searching.

Aster turned herself around as silently as possible and pressed her lips to Zack's ear. She murmured to him, not with intent to send shivers down his spine, though that was the outcome.

"Don't freak out," she said almost silently, and smashed her heel through the grate with an enormous but unavoidable clatter, and shoved herself out of the vent.


	18. Hell Out Here

**A/N: Hey! Another Wednesday, another update. Let's see what was waiting on the other side of the air vent grate, shall we? Going to subtly raise the whole 'rated T for mild violence' thing here again. Shit's about to go down.**

**Yet again some kind of miracle washed over me that this update is on time—which is ridiculous because I've been so into it this week and even started writing *actual new content* (aka started working on chapter 28). But it's late in the day because I'm running a stupid high fever and have had less than twenty hours of sleep in five days so I'm going to go to BED because I've made myself ill.**

**Remember to take care of yourself people, love from an idiot that seriously can't x**

17th Jul '19

* * *

**Chapter 18: Hell Out Here**

"Don't freak out," she said almost silently, and smashed her heel through the grate with an enormous but unavoidable clatter, and shoved herself out of the vent.

"Aster!"

Her feet slammed the ground. A stationed Wutai troop in the dead-end of what seemed to be a library or archive spun to face her boot heel connecting with his nose. With the element of surprise duly on her side, his head cracked to the side and he fell in a crumpled heap.

Zack threw himself from the chute, landing light on his toes, and swung his sword from his shoulder. His eyes drew to the unconscious guard by her feet.

"Shit," he hissed. "Are you alright?"

She was a civilian, after all, with no training past basic self-defence, certainly nothing that could compare against heavy arms and artillery. She was a skater, for Gaia's sake, it wasn't like she had the drill and training to be able to deal with the trauma of what could be beyond the maze of bookcases.

So he may have thought.

"I'm fine," she said as she pressed her back against the shelves before a corner. Voices travelled closer — the clank of metal armour, sound of boots against the ground. Red lights swarmed the room. She closed her eyes in wait.

Footsteps grew closer, a run. Zack lurched to yank her from the reach of the soldier surely about to shoot or impale her, but he was too far away.

The moment the first soldier's armour reflected the red glare of emergency lighting upon cresting the corner, Aster grabbed him by the breastplate and swung him headfirst into the bookcase. Books toppled into him.

Zack staggered forward in shock. "What the hell?"

Aster hedged a well-placed bet that his military-wired brain would snap to respond to an order. "Zack—go!"

He pelted forward and met the two others with a clash of steel, wielding his blade as though it were weightless. He sprung off one grunt with a kick to the chest only to charge into the other, swinging and parrying with the Wutaian and his comparatively trivial halberd.

Sounds like sharpening knives filled Aster's ears. The man she'd thrown into the bookcase stumbled to his feet and raised his fists at her. Inhaling sharply through her nose, she ducked under his straight and came up with a punch to the jaw. Her knuckles cracked in resistance, but she ignored them and booted him square in the chest with a well-timed push kick that knocked him back off his feet.

His uniform was clearly of lesser status compared with those she'd fought in the slums, but the ones fighting Zack were different again. She tried to switch off the part of her brain that was racing to work out their hierarchy and switch on the side that would aid her combat. Struggling with that left an opening for the man to jackknife and kick her the gut. The force brought her immediately to the ground, and she dodged his incoming punch to the face. She kneed him high in the stomach, sending him into the wall behind them and into submission.

She scrambled to her feet and sprinted around the corner toward Zack. He blocked an incoming slash from slicing through his shoulder or Aster's neck and ran his sword through and out of the troop's stomach so quickly that Aster wasn't even sure it had happened. That is until blood gurgled in the slumping guard's throat.

Zack grabbed her hand before she could dwell on it. They charged through aisles of bookshelves between bullet streams and smouldering heaps of files and books. Zack stomped to a halt at a crossway, where a group of five Wutaian soldiers awaited them. But Aster saw only through them, beyond them. To where bodies clad in blue uniforms and painfully familiar infantry helmets that hid their identities laid in silent piles.

It was hard not to imagine them as people she knew. Rex, Matt, Rohrbach, Sparrow. Those men, lost, soaked in their own blood, could just have easily been someone she knew. Her face blew hot in rage.

Zack, acting as always on instinct, covered Aster with a protective arm, waiting for the first to strike. All at once.

He swiped his sword through the air warningly and charged forward, leaving two foes to change their minds and head for the weaker of the two. The girl. She resented that they had helmets. They were in a much better position than she.

She threw herself to the ground to avoid impalement via halberd. This was where she would die if she didn't fight back hard enough. This wasn't training. She scrambled for the switchblade buried in her back pocket.

A second stab ripped a line of flesh from her side and earned a yelp that made Zack wince. He spun to aid her but was punched in the face by another grunt.

Aster grabbed the polearm that almost ended her and yanked herself to her feet. The soldier shook it vehemently, trying to beat her away and dislodge her grip. Up close and personal it couldn't do him any good. She cracked the hilt of her switchblade into his nose. With a crunch, his blood sprayed over her clothes and he hit the ground.

Behind her, the second man clouted her over the head so hard she fell to her knees. A flash of silver caught her eye. Desperately, she lunged to tackle him to the ground and pinned him there with a stab to the gut with her knife. Twist. Pull. She squeezed her eyes shut when his widened at her in horror and stumbled back to her feet, blood dripping from her hand and blade, jaw agape.

"Aster!" Zack yelled, shoving a grunt off him only to be attacked by a second.

Her eyes flicked to the soldier whose nose she broke as he grabbed her shirt and punched her square in the face. For a second, she only saw blotches of black and bright light. Her knees failed, but she didn't hit the floor. She hung limp in her shirt in the soldier's hand until he hurled her body into a bookcase, breaking shelves and sending books and files tumbling. Aster fell flat into the ground with a groan. The bookcase teetered.

Zack lunged and grabbed her shoulders, yanking her out of the way as the ceiling-height unit toppled over. The man that threw her into it dove out of the way. The one she stabbed was crushed.

Zack lifted her from her daze. Adrenaline shot back through her system like it replaced her blood. Over the toppled bookcase, the surviving soldier aimed with his halberd-rifle hybrid and fired off several shots that Zack deflected with the swipe of his sword. There was no time to awe.

Aster vaulted onto the bookcase, ignoring the pain, and drop kicked the soldier in the face and chest. Her back splintered the spine of the shelving unit and boy, did the impact sting, but she rolled to stand anyway.

Zack snatched her hand again. "C'mon!"

He hardly waited for her to jump down before running on through the aisles. They burst through a secured fire exit and into a stairwell with the number forty-five embedded against the wall. Aster looked over her shoulder. The door slammed shut, and there was no handle. No way back in.

Zack started for the stairs down, but Aster dug her heels against the floor and ground to a stop, slipping her hand free of his. The sudden cold where her hand had been was enough to stop him in his tracks. He spun and scooped her hands in his again. Gentler. "Are you okay?"

Cuts and grazes smattered her skin—partly from Zack's Blizzaga spell—her nose was bleeding profusely over her lips, and a shredded section of her top revealed a wound across the side of her waist that turned the fabric a very fresh red. Yes, she was covered in blood, and it wasn't even all her own.

But she nodded. "I'm fine," she said, scanning his body for wounds too. Besides a split cheekbone, she couldn't tell. "How about you?"

"Just scratches—let's go," he said, making for the stairs.

"Wait!" She snatched back his hand with both of hers and tugged him to look at her again. "People are dying here…"

"Leave it to me. I won't let them hurt you."

She shook her head vigorously and wiped the blood that ran down her chin. "That's not it. Zack, we have to help them. All of ou—your forces are upstairs, so whatever is happening is happening up there, not down."

"You've gotta be kidding," he almost yelled. "I can't take you into the danger!"

"You don't have to," she said, offering a smile in advance apologies, "but you'll follow me, won't you?"

"Aster—no!"

She pelted up the stairs two at a time and only stopped on the next floor when Zack swiped her wrist from her again. "You're injured…!"

She glanced down at her previously white tank top and made a mental note to stop buying light-coloured clothes. "It's nothing—"

"—Goddess, are you insane?" he said. Stress gave an edge to his voice. He pulled her into him, one hand pressed to her back and the other firmly over her wound. As soon as the gasp of pain shot into her lungs, it was replaced with relief. The warmth of a Cure spell released from his fingers and stitched her side back together to stanch the bleed. "How can you say this is nothing? Aster, this is war."

She didn't have a response to that.

She placed her hands against his chest, staring at her swollen knuckles, bruised from making poor decisions in combat. She looked up at him. "I can't reconcile our differences of opinion here, but what I am certain of is that the longer we waste in here, the more people die out there. They need you."

Ultimately they were similar people. Because as soon as an explosion blew from several flights above, they both hit the stairs up without further discussion.

They blasted through the doors onto the fifty-second-floor lobby—or perhaps that was what it once might have been before. Walls laid in crumbled piles and bodies littered the puddled floor. Under red light, it was easy to pretend it was just water.

A massive hole in a wall nearby undoubtedly led to the elevator shaft from which they came. But worse than the destruction that war wrought was, of course, the fighting. Infantrymen and SOLDIER members in dark red armed with swords and guns and fists and grenades, yelled and screamed. Sobbed over fallen comrades through battle cries. There weren't many left in action. Many were injured.

"Zack!" A SOLDIER member in Zack's same uniform grabbed him by the wrist and dragged him to the relative safety of a decrepit, half-standing office that smelt of gunpowder and had a whole wall missing. They crouched behind a desk. Zack's skin paled around the man's tight grip. "Where in Gaia have you been? Our orders have changed."

Aster stopped breathing. It was Angeal.

Zack shook his head. "Sorry, 'Geal, but I've been tryin' to get my girlfriend out of here!"

Aster felt the heat rise to her cheeks; then she pushed the thought from her mind. Ease of language. That's all.

Recognition flashed across Angeal's face. "You're—"

"—Good to meet you," she blurted out, stretching her hand to him and praying that he might not say another word.

He didn't. He eyed Zack then looked back to Aster's imploring face before shaking her extended hand brusquely, but not impolitely.

"…Pleasure," he said. "Under unfortunate circumstances."

She barely nodded in response.

"Secure and maintain this floor, understood?" he directed to Zack. "They seem to be targeting the labs. Do not let them pass. We are under strict instruction."

"You got it."

Zack slapped Angeal on the shoulder as the latter stood and left the room. The sword on his back was wider than Aster's waist. She blanched.

"Okay," Zack said, snapping back her attention. "Wait here."

"Where are you going?"

As if in response, the floor shook beneath heavy footsteps of what Aster could only suspect belonged to an even bigger version of the monster that destroyed the elevators and fell down the shaft. The vibrations knocked her back against the rattling desk drawers.

He pursed his lips and nodded. "You heard my orders. Please, _please_ hide. If you need me, shout for me. I'll come back."

"Zack, but I—"

Beyond the crumbled wall, a body flew through the air and smashed straight into the remaining elevator doors. The brickwork around them crumbled just a little more. He wore a burgundy uniform, Second Class. Out like a light. Down that easy.

"These are anti-SOLDIER monsters. I'm sorry. I can't tell you what to do, but I'm asking you to stay out of their way."

Aster saw the ache in his sky blue eyes and gave in to it with a jaw clamped so tightly her teeth hurt. It wasn't frustration, or not the angry kind, anyway. Helplessness. Caught. He didn't know the training she had received, so she couldn't say his worry was misplaced. Eventually, she brought herself to nod.

He took her head in his hands and kissed her forehead. "You need me and I'll come running."

With which he turned tail and ran through the battlefield towards the loudest of shrieks and bangs and yelling, sword drawn. Aster leant back against the wall and pulled her PHS from her pocket. Since it was in the same pocket she had shoved her switchblade back into earlier it was scratched, and the small screen was covered in blood. She wiped it clean with her thumb to reveal seven missed calls.

She dialled a number. "Tseng."

"Doe." His voice was sharp. Sharper than usual, anyway. "Where the hell are you?"

"Long story. Fifty-second floor as of right this moment," she said, then inhaled a breath through her nose, steeling herself for the betrayal to Zack's wishes she was about to commit. "Orders?"

He paused for a moment. "Remain on the fifty-second floor. I am working downwards from fifty-six; the situation is contained. Are you with Fair?"

"Uh—yeah? How did you know that?"

"Because you don't answer your goddamn PHS when you're with him—keep relatively near him but not near enough that he accidentally slices your arm off, understood? Don't do anything stupid."

She cocked her head to the side with the barest hint of a smirk. "Is that my permission to go for it?"

His sigh crackled through the line even over the sounds of conflict. "Don't do anything stupider than usual."

"Got it," she said, hanging up on him. "I never do anything stupid."

The stone that sank to her stomach reminded her that she had put herself into an uncomfortable position, having received orders from her professional superior to act and having been begged personally by someone else—who was still very much her superior—to omit. Sat with her back against the wall and her foot against a felled pillar, she was very much between a rock and a hard place.

She crept over to the fallen office wall and surveyed the room. From here she could see the exposed the concrete and brick of the elevator shaft, and further beyond the foyer, far across the floor, panels of glass that stared over the sectors of Midgar, at least one of which was shattered with splintering shards still reaching into the growing night. Zack must have wound deeper into the floor. Her shuddering breaths would have given her away had she been lurking in silence. Trying to contain them with deep ins and outs, she watched the Wutaian grunts fighting with the Shinra, overrunning her brain with her next two, three or four steps.

Something cold licked her neck.

Slowly, she turned to face a man of maybe thirty in thick Wutaian cladding at the less sharp end of his rifle-halberd hybrid. Her eyes traced the polearm, a glorified mop handle with a foot-long bladed head to it, the other end a barrel of a gun. She dragged her eyes up to his.

His narrowed as he pressed the blade against her skin, enough to draw a bead of blood.

He pulled the blade back and went for the stab but met with concrete when she ducked. She kicked out his knee with intent to break and bent beneath the swing that almost capped her neck.

He booted her in the chest and her spine struck the crumbling wall. Some kind of missile burst towards her from his halberd and narrowly missed. The blast knocked brick and plaster out of the wall, and Aster choked on the air.

The smell of sulphur filled her nose, but through the dust and smoke, she darted for him. She jabbed for the face until he brought his halberd up to block. She kicked it with all her strength between his hands, snapping it in two and connecting her heel with his face. He stumbled backwards over the rubble, sending him down groaning.

She snatched the sharp half of the broken weapon and ran from the office space. An infantryman stood facing two Wutaians. Aster slashed the blade across the torso of one guard while the infantryman shot at him with his all-familiar rifle.

"S-she's with me?" he asked, trying to convince himself that this was a good thing.

She nodded, threw the broken weapon at the second man like a throwing knife which he sadly deflected, and bared her fists. "Yeah, I'm with you. I'll be passing out in under a month," she said, wiping her upper lip with her wrist. "Name's Doe."

With the infantryman at her back, a smile passed her lips — kinship in a uniform.

It was a violent crash of bodies and blunt thuds, and her lungs screamed with each impact as breath forcibly left her.

Fights weren't long. Not really. Lasted only as long as it took one to down or end the other, of course. A well-placed punch. A quick stab.

"Doe!"

Aster whirled around to face an enemy that shivved for her gut. The spear grazed past her stomach. She felt it cleave the air. Nicked her shirt fabric. Her hands wrapped around the pole as she gasped.

The man at the other end let go of the weapon limply when Angeal swiped his sword skyward, sending the Wutaian flying into the door to the stairwell. He holstered his sword.

Aster strained against the strength shock possessed, and deflated with her hands—and newly acquired polearm—across her knees. "Thank you," she breathed.

The SOLDIER stepped forward and nodded to her. "I know you. You're the cadet that's been causing all the problems in basic training."

She stiffened. "With respect, I resent that statement. I'm not the one causing the issues, sir."

Angeal barked a dry laugh. "That is a matter of perspective." Then he lowered his voice. "Zack doesn't know?"

"No." She shook her head and caught her breath. She stared solidly at the ground between her feet. "I've been trying to separate my personal and work life, sir."

"Given your circumstances, I suppose I can't blame you. But this raises even more problems," Angeal said, hand at his chin for just a moment. The pensive tension in his forehead released. "Tell Zack I'm going to aid Genesis upstairs. Orders stand."

Her lips pinched together. "Yes, sir."

He passed her but hesitated. He didn't turn. "I won't tell Zack. Not while it is none of my business. I sympathise with you, but only so far."

She nodded faintly, though he wasn't looking at her. "I don't want to worry him."

Angeal turned a Mako eye, something Aster had previously regarded as warm. Now it looked cold, critical, and unconvinced. But he nodded and headed through the stairwell door.

Aster gripped the halberd tighter, palms slipping against wood and metal, and ran across the expansive floor towards the skyline windows. Searching for Zack. She found him before the dark sky amid combat, dancing so similarly and yet so differently than in the late night of the week before, slashing and twisting and diving and lunging.

Beastly shrieks and wails did not let up. There were two of them. Two of the towering, troll-like beasts, one without a weapon, the other wielding an enormous hatchet similar to the one she saw earlier on, but a stronger variant, as expected. This was a Vajradhara Cala, and she could only tell by the subtle differences to its armour. The likeliness of her death if she went over there was two-fold. Firstly, she stood little chance against anti-SOLDIER monsters, and secondly, assuming she survived the first hit, Zack would proceed to destroy her for having ignored his pleas.

She sucked in a huge gasp as the Cala swiped its hatchet in line for Zack and he perfectly blocked the the blow with his sword, absorbing half of the force in his slightly buckling knees. Aster staggered backwards.

But beyond him, infantrymen and Second Classes either unconscious or almost, clung to their injuries. Zack was the last man standing. And she was more than ready to cast aside all her inhibitions until she saw his arm begin to glow, and a blast of concentrated power borrowed from the planet erupted from his hand and swelled into an engulfing ball of flames that exploded upon connection with the smaller of the two beasts. Aster scrambled to the floor to escape the blast radius that charred the walls and floors, unable to take her eyes from the spell, as the monster that bore the brunt collapsed in a heap that rumbled the floor.

The remaining one screamed, but Zack looked exhausted. Even amongst the dying flames, she could see his shoulders heaving and the sweat over his forehead. He lunged in and spun around, slashing across the gut and neck of the beast. The monster swept its arm down and across his chest with such unimaginable force that it knocked him clean off his feet. His back smacked the ground and his body bounced off the marble tiles. Sword clattered against the floor and slid from his reach. The beast pulled back the axe larger than Aster.

"No!"

She tore over from her previously safe distance, firing with the rifle end of her halberd, bullets ricocheting off the armour, like pebbles from a windowpane. She skidded to a halt between it and Zack, who coughed and spluttered behind her, pulling himself to his knees.

Her face was hard as stone. She aimed for the head, repeatedly firing, steadily, morbidly pissing it off. It was working.

Blood dripped from the slashes Zack left in its stomach and neck. The beast shrieked, deafening her and making her ears ring and vision blur as it choked on the bullets she fired. Then, it lowered its head, almost to the floor, eyes like faceted rubies dug in its flesh glaring her down. It charged towards her, and she didn't budge.

Zack reached an arm for her, screaming her name.

She took the halberd in two hands across her chest and stood her ground, feet rooted. Timed just right—and she really only had one shot—she bent over backwards, halberd against the floor, and kicked the beast in the chin hard enough to hear a crack with one leg after the other. It roared, throwing its head back, and in the same second she kicked her feet over to stand and rammed the halberd through Zack's slash in its bared throat.

She abandoned the bloodied weapon and sprung out of the way as the beast choked and fell face-forward onto the lodged spear, and though the pole snapped under its weight, it did so only after the halberd pierced through its skull. It hit the ground with a shuddering bang.

* * *

Aster pressed her back against a surviving pillar, staring out through a splintered window onto the city. All the windows were damaged. Bullet holes and spider webs. She slid down the support to sit hip to hip with Zack. Easier than to face the truth, it was to stare out into the night. The waning of adrenaline brought back the sense of pain, but also other feelings, like the cool breeze through the broken windows — the feeling of entwining fingers.

The fifty-second floor was almost silent, and the sounds of gunfire and assault waned in the levels above. The alarm siren withered away, and the red panic lighting died out and returned to bright white. Light brought reality, and the bloodstains that had been lost under red lamps now shone in dark pools that seeped from beneath bodies and monsters alike. At the end of it all, humans and monsters comprised of the same things. Blood and bones.

Everything that should be dead was now dead. And people that shouldn't be were too. A few members of SOLDIER slumped together near the elevators, recuperating, and a small group of infantrymen huddled near the stairwell. Of all the men that fought on this floor, these were the only survivors.

The night sky was a bruised black like the evening that had invited her into Midgar seemingly so long ago. Twirling ribbons of Mako splashed from the reactors, as though there were nought a care in the world. If only.

Her eyes seemed to glaze over, emotionlessly reflecting city lights. She tipped her head back into the wall. Lips hardly moved as she spoke.

"I killed a man today," she said. "In that library. I saw his light go out."

Zack didn't know what to say. That much was clear from his expression. "You defended yourself."

As she had before. Of all the people she knocked unconscious, how many never woke up? "Still murder." She closed her eyes. Her sigh made her voice breathy and weak. "What does that make me?"

Zack swallowed and looked out into the night. If it made her a murderer,

what did that make him?


	19. The Burden of Truth

**A/N: Right guys, not gonna lie to you. I'm struggling with the next few chapters but because of that, I may not be able to update next Wednesday. You can bet I'm gonna try, but I'll be leaving updates on the matter in my bio if I run into any issues. I've been doing a lot of plotline threading throughout the entire story, and it's really vital that they come in the right order, that's why it's all so time-consuming. Hopefully, you'll think the outcome is worth any wait though!**

**And OH YEAH THIS CHAPTER IS A GOOD ONE. Love this. Do I say that every chapter? Possibly. But seriously! Dudes this one holds up if you don't mind a little cliffhanger… I'll say no more.**

**Have yourselves a fantastic week (or possibly two)!**

24th Jul '19

* * *

**Chapter 19: The Burden of Truth**

The infirmary. Again.

But not as a patient, at least. Or perhaps that was worse. Maybe she would have preferred to be the patient than the visitor.

The room was not unlike hers from a week ago; white on white that only served to make their injuries appear worse. An IV connected to what Aster was told contained a concentrated mixture of more than just saline and painkillers, but Mako too. Zack's SOLDIER enhancements rendered him able to receive more intensive treatments without the ill-effects of Mako-poisoning that ordinary people might experience. Aster glanced at her fingers, where her old wounds had withdrawn to naught but a thin pink hint.

Regardless, she perched on the lip of the hospital bed near its injured inhabitant, carefully peeling coated bandages apart from their sealant for the doctor at Zack's side. The very same doctor who had seen her. There was no flash of recognition. After all, why would he have ever treated a civilian?

He inspected a clipboard. "Three fractured ribs, multiple bruised vertebrae, surface lacerations and a stab wound to the abdomen," he said, then hung the file at the end of the bed. "Not the worst state I've ever seen you in, Fair."

"What can I say?" said Zack, waving his hand dismissively.

The doctor pushed his glasses up his nose. The lenses were a good half a centimetre thick and stuck out of the spindly wire frames. They magnified his watery grey-blue eyes so much he became reminiscent of a bug. He helped his patient sit upright, earning a stifled wince or two from Zack who, by the doctor's best estimations, was trying to save face in front of the girl.

The light sheets slipped from Zack's chest and bundled around his hips, and Aster's cheeks flushed at his state of shirtlessness. With a grin on his lips, he didn't mention it. She focussed instead on the wound, and not the way his abs rippled towards his waistband.

"Ahem, the bandages?" the doctor said for a second time.

"S-sorry, here," she said, hurriedly passing the dressings over. The doctor placed a pad over the stitched stab site. It made Aster shudder, sending a silent prayer that the horn of that enormous beast was not what ran him through. But would it have been any better if the truth lay in the tip of a spear? Or a bullet? Not really. So she didn't ask.

"It will feel cold," the doctor said, securing the pad to Zack's body with a firm wrap of bandages. "It is lined with a Mako gel and infused with the trace of Cure. It will accelerate your natural SOLDIER healing capabilities."

Natural and SOLDIER didn't really seem to belong in the same sentence.

Doctor Bugstache handed Aster the remaining bandages to wind while he filled a few boxes on Zack's chart and removed his IV. "I see no need to sign you off so long as you don't do anything exceedingly strenuous. Expect to feel yourself again in approximately three days."

"Three days?" Aster repeated, forgetting her volume and almost dropping the dressings. "He broke three ribs — and there's a veritable hole in his stomach."

"Yes." The doctor spoke simply but did not condescend. He was probably a great parent or teacher to someone. "When a man is made SOLDIER, his strength, stamina and regenerative powers are completely overhauled. Minor cuts and grazes may even, in some instances, heal before the eyes. Couple this with Shinra's modern healing technology and, well, you have the super soldier."

Aster flicked her eyes to Zack, full of child-like awe. "That's incredible. You're incredible," she said, tying off the bandages and faintly shaking her head. She asked him if they were too tight, he said it was fine.

"You might consider a career in medical assistance," the doctor said with a smiley moustache. "Very helpful."

Aster smoothed over the binding for little more reason than an excuse to keep her hands against Zack's body. "I don't have the patience, I'm afraid."

The doctor nodded and addressed his patient. "Call upon Angeal as usual, shall I?"

Zack groaned but resigned himself to his immediate fate. "Alright, fine. Thanks, man."

Doctor Bugstache gave a stiff nod and bade them farewell, leaving them to their own devices.

The PHS in Aster's pocket began to ring. Zack shifted his legs off the bed, and she stood between his knees with a gentle, if uncertain, hand on his thigh. She reached into her back pocket with the other and silenced the call.

"How are you feeling?" she asked, suddenly aware of her voice becoming the loudest sound in an otherwise humming room.

"I'm alright. Can't we get you checked out?"

"I'm fine, just a bit battered." She shrugged. "I don't have any of that Mako stuff, mind, so you'll have to give me a couple days to look less…vaguely purple." As she said it, she absently poked a bruise on her jaw that was beginning to head.

"I can heal you—"

"—Hey, no. You need to rest," she said, touching his shoulder. Her PHS started to vibrate again. "I don't claim to know much about materia—although you can bet I'm gonna try and find out after all I've seen today—but even I know using materia is exhausting."

"But—"

"—Nothing. If I feel any pain, I promise I'll speak to Tifa, okay? Have you seen that girl's bathroom cabinet? Holy crap. She could give this sick house a run for its money."

She tore open a medicinal wipe from the box of them on the bedside table. A trail of blood from a cut on his forehead dried into his eyebrow. Least she could do was wipe it away. Clean the traces of war left on his face that she could reach. It was a small aid. She couldn't wipe away the memory of the ambush, nor the impact that it had.

She was aware of how he watched her. It was hard to ignore the glow of his eyes, especially when the low sun that glared through the window lit them two shades lighter, like a frosty but bright day. But slowly, his smile fell from his face, snatched by uncertainty.

There was something about how his voice hit the air that said he spoke more to himself than to her. "How can the girl who danced into the small hours of the night possibly be the same girl that destroyed an anti-SOLDIER unit…?"

Aster hesitated. She averted her gaze and pulled her lower lip over her teeth, biting the colour out of them. There was an opportunity to tell the truth here. If only she were brave enough to take it.

She threw the used wipe in the bin and set her fingers on his knees, staring at her feet. "So, I…"

Zack pressed a fresh medicinal wipe to her jaw, and she flinched. Not pain, unawares. And her resolve crumbled from under her feet like sand. The skin of her chest blew red and warm, and that warmth continued to rise to her forehead.

"I was part of a small…supplementary combative force in Icicle Inn."

His cheeks hollowed by the gaping of his jaw. "You're a freaking mercenary?"

"N-no, not exactly—" His eyes were so wide. Was it disbelief? Or was it horror? Disgust? Sweat prickled at her neck—this heat was unbearable. "H-have you heard about the incidents around Icicle Inn?"

The muscles at his jaw tensed when he pinched together his lips. His tone soothed as he carefully wiped away the blood on her mouth and nose. "Yeah…I heard about it."

"You ever been posted there?"

He shook his head. "Not for a while. I knew there were a lot of problems going on, but I didn't know it was so bad that the villagers have to defend themselves. It's," he said, hesitantly, "monster attacks, isn't it? Loads of them."

"Uh-huh," she said because it was the only sound her throat would make. She swallowed down the tightness, taking a moment to discard the used cleansing wipes to distract herself from the tingling behind the bridge of her nose. Again she returned to Zack's knees, and this time he took her hands in his.

"Before I left, five people—no," she said, haunted by the sight of the woman that collapsed in a river of her own blood at the jaw of a Bandersnatch near the ice rink, "six people, townspeople, had died. Two had gone missing."

"Every day you felt just a little bit unsafer," she continued, playing with his fingers, watching them intently. "But it never really stopped the people from living. In order to survive in those climates, you have to have a little bit about you, you know? The people continued their lives in spite of the fear."

Zack's eyes stuck to their hands, too. He didn't speak, allowing her the room to carry on when she felt the strength to do so.

"I had a mentor, I suppose you could say. He took me under his wing a few years prior, so it only made sense to join the band of do-gooders when it formed. I was qualified."

She went on to explain. "Basically, monster-exterminating is an integral part of life in the Knowlespole; it's freezing so we need pelts for coats and meat for food. I was being mentored by Bryan in the first place because our trades are taught by the learned to the younger generation to continue the craft. I'm terrible with a needle and I can't cook to save my life. Figured that if I couldn't be trained to make clothes and food, I'd have to be trained to source the materials instead.

"When the attacks started, it all made sense. I'm already better equipped to fight than say, my younger brother, who granted, did have some training but much less than me, or my little sister or old-ass parents. They sent some troops to aid us but…it isn't enough. People are dying. The single reason why only six people have died is because of how hard we've been working to keep them at bay…!"

Her words fell like lead in dead air. Zack looked at her, at the way she'd narrowed her eyes to stop them stinging. Slowly he wrapped his arms around her waist. "Why did you really come here…? To Midgar?"

She pressed a shaking hand to her forehead. "I didn't have a choice."

He would never have understood how true that statement was. Neither could he have realised why she was fighting back tears, not really. Because the true reason wasn't fear, it was guilt. How it gnawed from inside out. That she was here. One of the most equipped to help. With no way to do so.

The tears didn't fall. Her PHS rang for the thousandth time, and this time she took it out with a sniff. It was the only person it was ever going to be. She shoved it back in her pocket. Wasn't like she could answer it in front of Zack, but it did nibble on her mind as to what the problem could be, and she knew it was time she had to leave before Tseng marched down here and dragged her out himself—that was what his following text message read, anyway.

"You gotta go?" Zack asked quietly as though he read her mind. But honestly, he'd just heard the constant ringing for the past ten or so minutes. Seemed important.

Her lips parted as she nodded. "Yeah. You gonna be okay?"

"Oh, yeah. I practically live here." When her entire body stiffened and her eyes widened, he quickly backtracked. "I mean—not literally! I'll be out in less than half an hour. Just gotta wait for Angeal."

"Okay," she said, gingerly slipping her hands to the back of his neck. "Stay safe. Uh, safe as possible."

"Goes for you, too." He slid his hands to her hips. Bruised though she was, his touch was positively healing. She was sure of it. "I like a girl who's a bit of trouble, but you've taken it to an art form."

She sniggered weakly over her firing nerves. "You don't know the half of it."

Her heart jittered in her chest and the air got harder to breathe. She looked into his half-closed eyes under long lashes, content, fixated, unfocussed, on her lips. He leaned into her, fitting his mouth to hers, intending to pull away soon after. But her lips were like rose petals from which he couldn't bear to part, so he pulled her closer to his body.

His hand slipped into her waist of its own accord, lifting her shirt along with it, something which he would later swear was an accident, but a happy one all the same.

Reluctantly, she pulled an inch away, the taste of his lips lingering over hers. They shared a few unstable breaths in the space between them, and Aster only pulled apart properly after chewing her lip longingly, debating whether or not to leave. Her hands slipped down his shoulders and left him cold.

His face was adorably flushed, but she couldn't sit on her high horse—hers was, too.

Zack, somewhat tentatively, broke the silence. He spoke lightly, with a smile. "Didn't turn out to be such a great second date, did it?"

"What are you talking about?" she said with a faint laugh. "It was positively action-packed."

"I'm beginning to think you're some kind of nutcase."

"I'm beginning to think you might be right."

"I'll see you soon," he said, trailing his fingers from her hip to her arm and down to her hand, not willing to let go until the very last second.

"Yeah. See you soon."

* * *

Tseng was specific as to which floors Aster was permitted to access. Fifty-three through to fifty-five, for example, were strictly off-limits — even to high-ranking members of SOLDIER. Even to Zack. Apparently, that was where Tseng had been operating during the break-in, and where Cissnei, Rude and Reno currently remained. Aster couldn't stop herself from wondering: where was that other girl? Elena, wasn't it?

Aster cast a dark glance over Tseng. _When the time comes, I'll have to trust you, too_, he had said, many weeks ago. Did he trust her? Did she trust him? Who was this Elena? Why were they kept so rigidly, so deliberately apart?

Tseng turned to her as if feeling her eyes boring through his ponytail. "What now?"

The words wouldn't come. Rather her eyes dragged out over the disaster of the fifty-second floor once more. In a new light. The Mako glow from the nearest reactor stretched in through the shattered glass, throwing spiderweb shadows over the marble floor. A marble floor that had once been gleaming, now covered in a thin layer of concrete dust, bullets, empty magazines, shrapnel, armour, weapons. Carcasses. Blood.

Bodies.

In the silence, the phantom sound of pellets pinging against the floor haunted the air. But there was nothing. Nothing but the ghost of violence.

Tseng turned over the face of a Wutaian soldier with his foot. Dark eyes open, sunken in. Aster looked away.

"How do you manage it, Tseng?"

He turned to face her.

"How can you just kill like that?"

"We are the Turks," he said, moving his foot and allowing the deceased's head to roll back against the floor. It was hard to believe that life ever existed within that armour and uniform. Complete absence. "We do what must be done."

Perhaps 'we' simply removed the sense of responsibility on the individual. But she didn't challenge him.

"For the Company?" she asked.

He nodded and moved on without her. "And for the public interest, more often than I'm sure you'd expect."

"Do what must be done. Kill who must be killed," she murmured, looking at the shell of a man on the floor beside her. A man who had tried very hard to decapitate her. A man who may not have felt even an ounce of remorse if the roles were reversed.

"Even family."

She whirled around to regard Tseng's ponytail again. "Even family?"

Tseng knelt beside a felled infantryman and removed his helmet with more care than Aster thought he was capable. "Yes. If the situation calls for it. Even family."

He patted the lost youth down, eventually retrieving an identification and employee card from their pocket. Tseng didn't look at Aster. Not once. "It is often easier to have very little connection with anyone."

Aster's ribs clenched on her lungs and heart in the clutches of suspicion. She stepped towards him. "Why are you bringing this up?"

He sighed and stood, shoving the ID into his pocket, staring at something on the other side of the city. "I once lost family to the cause."

Her boots crunched into the glass beneath her feet as she trod closer to assess his face. No expression gave him away. Emotion was a valve sealed off.

"The Turks are many things. We are spies, yes, to put it crudely. Spearheads of a deceptively large intelligence agency. We are involved in recruitment. Personal security detail for President Shinra and his son. We are many things." Finally, with a face of sickly Mako-green and shadows, he looked at her. "But we are also SOLDIER-killers."

Aster didn't like where this was going.

"Renegade SOLDIER members are one of the largest threats to the Company. Not for their skills—one member of SOLDIER, strong as they may be, cannot take down a legion of their brethren unless they are another Sephiroth—but for the information locked within them. Industrial secrets are located in their very bodies.

"It is with this in mind that the Turks are employed to eradicate them. The Turks, though not enhanced, surpass SOLDIER, for it is we who must ultimately destroy them."

Aster's wide, pale blue eyes quivered.

Tseng looked away again. "Therefore, I could not tell you in good conscience that one day you might not be sent to murder Zack Fair."

Aster spat out her words like they burned. "That's ridiculous!"

He nodded and cupped his chin in his hand. "Yes. It certainly seems far from possible in the current state of affairs. It may never happen. I daresay it probably won't."

"But it could," he continued, "and it is simply a fact that you need to be aware of before making any important decisions. It is just as likely that you could be sent after Genesis Rhapsodos or Angeal Hewley. Or even myself. I merely use Fair as a poignant example."

Then he closed his eyes in thought. "This is all on the basis that you survive."

"For Gaia's sake," she hissed. A sharp, angry bite that snapped open the eyes of her predator. "Survive _what_?"

"Your test."

* * *

Tseng said no more. A further knot of frustration twisted in Aster's neck and the rest of the night played in silence. It was dawn before she was permitted to retire to the barracks. Her body was cold from that which seeped into her bones from the dead. The ice in her muscles made her heavy.

Security was extraordinarily tight, and she had to jump through hoops to be allowed back into the cadet basement that was practically on lockdown. Even as a Turk cadet, she was struggling to get from door A to door B. Eventually she was let into her bunker, as it were.

"Holy crap—"was the first thing out of Rex's mouth, but he interrupted himself by launching from his bed and slapping an arm around her in an over-tight hug. "The hell've you been? You look like shit."

A handful of cadets, including Matt whom she was relatively friendly with, and Rohrbach, too, gathered around her, since she was definitely the most interesting advancement over the past twelve hours. When news of the break-in broke, all cadets were locked down and in the dark.

And Rex wasn't wrong, either. Her shirt was splattered in her blood, some of Zack's, and a good splashing of Wutaian, and it had an open slash through it where she had narrowly escaped a stabbing and proceeded to be healed by Zack. Her pants, though dark, were bloodstained and dirty, and her boots were scratched, the soles embedded with shards of glass. Cracked, dried blood remained around her nostrils where Zack had not wanted to hurt her. A gash on her jawline looked like it needed stitching up and her cheekbone was growing purple through bruising. And that was just what could be seen.

Her voice crackled from disuse. "Uh, I was on the SOLDIER floor of HQ during the attack."

"Floor forty-nine," Rex muttered.

Matt butted in over him. "So, are the rumours true? They say it was a Wutaian invasion with the intent to steal the secret of SOLDIER."

Aster furrowed her brow and shrugged. "I have no idea. Maybe, I guess, but I've heard nothing. No one will tell me anything." She rolled her eyes and mumbled to Rex, "Nothing new there."

His lips quirked into a faint smirk whilst the youngest boy, barely fifteen years old, asked intently, "Did you get to fight any Wutaians?"

Of course, many boys and men joined the military specifically to fight the enemy in a direct attempt to protect their homes and families. It shouldn't have come as such a surprise that his young, wide eyes sparkled in anticipation of any stories she might have.

But it felt wrong. She shuffled her weight from foot to foot. "Yeah, I had to. It was that or get murdered."

A loud bang emanated from beyond the small crowd. Newberry's fist dented the metal cabinet beside his bed. He glared over at her but said nothing.

"I know you'd rather I died," she spat, but maybe deep down she was shaken.

Matt clamped a hand over her shoulder. "Ignore 'im. He's been all bent out of shape since you told 'im off."

She blinked and closely her fallen mouth, looking from Matt's face to those of the few around her. Almost like a wall. Support. Suddenly she didn't feel so isolated anymore.

"But you're alright, right?" Rex asked sincerely, ducking his head towards her and lowering his voice.

"Yeah, I'm fine," she said. "The clean up is well underway. They've been working tirelessly all night."

"Did you see Sephiroth?" Dylan-the young one-asked, eyes comically wide.

Aster couldn't stifle a laugh. "No, I didn't. I saw Angeal though; he kicked some real ass. Wouldn't wanna get on the wrong side of him. And Zack, too."

"What's he like?"

She cast her mind back to places it didn't want to go, not really. Images of his back smacking into marble and bouncing sickeningly, and images of the wound to his abdomen. But after getting them out of her system and thinking back to the spell that brought down an anti-SOLDIER unit in one hit, and the way the corded muscles of his arms swung around his sword like it was feather-light, she was able to really grasp what kind of incredible he was. His focus, his reflexes, his strength. He was first class. First Class SOLDIER. A prodigy.

"He's…unbelievable." She shook her head of the thoughts and smiled. "Really, he's phenomenal. He's a goalpost for everyone. What anyone should strive to be like."

Rex shot her a knowing look, but she didn't notice.

She spent the next fifteen minutes telling an extremely redacted version of the day's events. For instance, she entirely skipped over why she was in the Shinra Building in the first place, and didn't even mention the elevator shaft incident at all—although she did go on to tell the fullest version of the story to Rex late that evening from their favourite spot on the rooftop—she instead told them about the Wutaians that 'accosted her in a library' that she had 'found herself in when responding to Tseng's orders', and went on to explain that she ran into Zack Fair several floors above where he proceeded to wreak absolute, unadulterated havoc on the anti-SOLDIER monsters. She ended on the truth, but didn't go on to say that she accompanied Zack to the infirmary, neither did she include the part where she melted beneath his kiss. She shuddered as the memory struck her spine like a match.

She already missed him.

One of the boys whistled in awe of the enormity of the situation that enshrouded HQ and strode midway up the room where he flopped on his bed.

"Yeah," she said in agreement with his sentiment. "I feel that on a personal level. Now, I need a shower."

"Wasn't gonna say anything," Rex said with a grin.

Poking her tongue out at him, she grabbed a clean, brand new, aka non-shredded uniform from her cabinet and headed beyond into the shower room.

The room was stuffy and wildly overheated, which was novel since Aster had only ever experienced it first thing in the morning and late in the evening when only ice spewed from the showerheads. The tiled floor and walls were fogged up and slippery from condensation, and Aster smelt what was undeniably menthol forcibly cleansing her nostrils. She rubbed away the sensation on the back of her hand, and it came away with flakes of dry blood. All the more reason to take a shower.

She hung her military-provided underwear on the hook inside the cubicle—the one she always used, as she was a creature of habit—and left her clean clothing just outside so it mightn't get soaked, with her towel thrown over the door.

Steamy water doused her body. This is what her life had come to. A five-minute hot shower and almost a whole bar of the cheapest soap available had become one of her greatest escapes and her third favourite luxury—luxury number one, of course, being time spent with Zack, and luxury two being with Tifa in the bar.

When she reached for her towel, it was swept from her reach and over the door.

"Hilarious, Rex," she growled, knocking on the inside of her door. "Give it back."

"Come and get it."

Her body froze. That was not Rex's lazy drawl. Goosebumps raised on her skin, but not from the shock of cold after a hot shower. From the lick of a dark tongue that was not supposed to speak.

She fairly ripped her underwear from the hook that was, praise the Goddess, inside the shower stall, yanked on the nude coloured sports bra and underwear and steadied her shaking fists before she dared open the door.

Newberry stood with her towel draped over his shoulder and flicked the lock of the shower room door. Her heart rate soared and her nostrils flared. The door was glass—someone would see. There would be witnesses. Right?

"Geez. Do you even need a bra, princess? Doesn't look like it's holding much. You're built like a little boy."

"What is it this time?" she snapped. Her instinct was to hide the fear. If he was a beast, she didn't want him absorbing triumph from her panic. Sniffing her fright. "Embarrassed? Is that it? Wanted to humiliate me to get your own back? You should know by now it's harder than this."

"You don't understand," he snarled, voice ripping from somewhere deep inside him. The voice of a destroyed soul in a body that couldn't take the weight. "I won't let you stand there and brag about all the disgusting things that you've done. Retelling that story as if you're some kind of hero."

"I didn't say I was a hero," she snapped.

"Then have some goddamn respect for the dead," he screamed. "All of those lives lost—they won't be reborn!"

The infantrymen, lying against the cold marble as it became covered in their life-giving blood. She fought for them. Aster immediately faltered, but couldn't let it be seen, so she squeezed her eyes shut and retorted, "What are you, some kind of pacifist? Why are you fighting if not to protect our people?"

"I am fighting to protect my people! Life is too precious to waste now—I can't stand your attitude—while you celebrate over victory, there are so many more who can't revel in it with you."

He stormed over to her and dug his fingers deep into her shoulders. "Why did you survive and not them!"

He threw her down, her legs sweeping from beneath her on the slippery tiles, slamming her back and head into the ground amongst the suds and condensation. Sparks flew in the corners of her eyes. Dark spots appeared in her vision.

Everything ached. She arched her back and tried to move, but slipped back into the tiles. It was so steamy, she could hardly see his dark shadow through the fog. Quickly she realised he'd set this up.

As he neared her, she could make out only one thing through the cloud. Hatred.

But…why?

Where did his all-encompassing hatred come from? What made him this way? Her voice came out in a croak as the haze threatened to take her. "What…the hell…did you lose?"

He crouched to grab a fistful of her hair and pulled her face to his. "Everything."

The only mercy was that as soon as he smashed her skull into the tiles, she was out like a light.


	20. Promises

**A/N: WHOOPS.**

**So, first of all, there was absolutely supposed to be an update on the 31st of July. The reason there wasn't was because I got all my dates mixed up. I was SO BUMMED because July 31st is Rex's birthday and I wanted to update just because that would've been cute. But I messed up. **

**THEN I didn't update AGAIN because omfg Chapter 20 gave me ISSUES. As you'll already know if you've been reading these ANs, I wrote most of these chapters before I started posting them, all I do is edit them every week (incidentally I'm running out of said material—BIG sweatdrop). But I got to Chapter 20 and I just…hated it (the pacing, not the actual material—I've just moved what happened to a later part of the story, because it's still important, just slow). So I ended up changing the entire second half but I agonised over it for days and days and days. I've said before that the story is a slow burner, but the figurative candle begins to burn both ends here for a while O_O. **

**But ANYWAY. We got some long-awaited exposition last chapter. Aster finally told Zack that she was part of a small monster-exterminating team led by Bryan, the dude from waaaaay back in Chapter 1. And we as readers got to know a little bit more about the nature of the attacks back in Icicle Inn. And of course, Newberry seems to be losing his goddamned mind. More questions have been raised than answered but believe me, they will be. Eventually. And I. can't. wait.**

**Love you guys. Thank you so much for your patience, especially since I left you on a corker of a cliffhanger o_o. Shall we see it resolved? Buckle in because this one is dramatic as hecccc.**

**Have yourselves an amazing WEEK. Just a week. Honest.**

14th Aug '19

* * *

**Chapter 20: Promises**

Vague shouting, muffled, through cotton wool ears. There was the sound of a loud bang, and a very heavy pin dropping to the tiles like a stone in an empty cave. It was the cheap lock of the door snapping off the frame after the DI's boot blasted it open. More yelling. Then, the loudest sound, a groan. It took her a while to realise it was coming from her.

Vision returned, dizzy and unclear, and confusion took over. The floor lurched away. Her stomach turned as she fell towards the ceiling. An arm against her back. Rex. It was Rex's arm. His face smeared by blinding light.

"Aster."

She closed her eyes to stop her from falling, stop the floor from moving and the ceiling spinning, but felt nudging—a hand shaking her arm, rubbing her cheek.

Awareness sank in slowly. The floor was not moving. She was not falling towards the ceiling. Rather, Rex had lifted her onto his lap, sitting on wet tiles, and was holding her neck and head in the crook of his elbow, fighting to keep her conscious. Her hair was damp and sticking to her back and his arm, surely soaking him. Dumb as it may be, it was enough to snap one of the brittle chains of daze that clenched her. Her body began to relearn to move on its own.

Sounds—real sounds—returned next. Rex's voice gave words she couldn't understand. Probably 'how you going?' or 'she'll be right' in his sun-drenched twang, but beneath the screaming, they drowned. Who was screaming?

Aster squinted through the brightness. The Red Cap. The Red Cap was screaming. But not at her. At a figure. A brooding figure with broad shoulders and a dense aura. Newberry. Right. What happened again? Something happened.

A final bark. Newberry saluted and stormed out through the limp door. For his punishment? Wonder what it was.

In her face, more screaming. She shrank in against Rex who held her weight at her elbows. Standing? Right, Rex helped her up. When? Ugh, did it matter? Her head rolled against his collarbone until the world sharpened into focus with a whoosh that popped her eardrums. Her feet became solid. She understood language. And Rex stopped struggling against a dead weight.

The Red Cap's eyes were a hot blue against his contorted face. "Do you understand me?"

"Yes, sir," she said, startling Rex with her previously absent awareness.

"Good," the Red Cap said through gritted teeth, then he turned to the rest of the squad. Rex was the only one to breach the shower room, but one or two other cadets were stood right at the door. Everyone else was presumably staying out of the way. "As for the rest of you, get out on that damn track," he said, storming through the door and rounding up troops like a sheepdog. Or wolf.

The storm passed. And when the wind settled, only silence remained.

Aster pressed a hand to her head and stumbled out of Rex's grasp. "What was he yelling at me?"

But Rex just stared at her, his lips poised with a thousand questions. He rolled them into one. "Mate, what the hell?"

"Sorry, I couldn't hear him," she said, watching the last of the recruits streaming out of the bedroom.

"No, I didn't mean that. I meant what the hell is going on? It started off bad enough, but Aster, it's getting worse. It's like—" He stopped to swallow his tumbling words. "It's like he'd kill you if he got the chance, mate. Wh-what'd you do to him?"

"I didn't do anything," she snapped, whirling around and instantly regretting it as her head spun. She pushed her fingers to her eyes and regained her balance. "Even you don't trust me anymore?"

He squinted at her. "Of course I trust you. But something isn't right. This isn't some dumb rivalry anymore."

"I'm gonna get to the bottom of this, Rex."

His lips drew into a thin line. "I know you will. You're gonna have to be a bit careful about it, though. He…he's…"

His eyes pulled to the shallow pool of water from where he'd picked up her limp body. A pinkish stream of blood pulled from it, like the tide pulling oil across the shore. Aster touched her upper lip and her fingers came away with the same.

He's angry, twice her size, and thirsty for her pain, was what Aster figured he meant. Murderous was what she thought.

He's out to get you, and he's not going to stop.

"Yeah. I know," she finally said.

* * *

Aster got the lesser punishment.

It seemed like a bad joke that she was facing punishment at all; the only thing she did was get wailed on. But the military is the military, and a fight is a fight.

Newberry all but disappeared. Didn't know where he was or what he was doing, and her head hurt too much to bother thinking about it.

Once more, only that which was bolted remained in place. That was her discipline—tidy up. Again. The old military favourite. But it felt like, just maybe, the DI pitied her and let her go with a gentle punishment for her crime. But then again, the pain in her skull was blistering and sleep-deprivation needled into the spaces between her ribs, so maybe her judgment wasn't at its strongest.

The cabinets stood gutted, their contents dropped in piles unceremoniously, with utter disregard for any man's possessions. His clothes, his bedding, his personal effects.

She started with the uniforms, easy enough. The methodic, repetitive shaking out, folding and stacking in each cabinet until each was identical was somewhat cathartic. At home, her bedroom carpet was lost beneath her clothes wherever she shed them, but somehow the organising the clothing of twenty men helped her compartmentalise her thoughts and settle a scattered brain.

It is hard not to snoop when someone's belongings are strewn before you. Necklaces, rings, a compass, lockets—even a twist of hair in a small metal box labelled 'first curl'. A view through the keyhole into the secrets and lives of her comrades. The hardest not to look at were the photographs.

She found herself smiling as she held a picture of what was an even younger, even smaller Sparrow, standing between those who must be his parents in ghastly matching sweaters. But Sparrow—Archie—looked happy, clinging to a certificate of some kind, and it radiated from the image. Aster pinned in on the inside of his locker door with a yellow magnet.

She noted Rex, who she was perhaps secretly looking forward to learning more about, had brought nothing with him at all. No pictures, no possessions. Only a couple of plain t-shirts and pants.

Somewhat disappointed, she moved onto her own space—second to last. The third time, this was, that she was forced to clear her emptied things. A familiar light and silky dress brushed her fingertips as she took it from the floor and hung it up gently. Maybe she'd wear it to the pass out ceremony. Maybe not. Maybe she'd wear it to the next SOLDIER inauguration, hopefully as a newly instated member of the Turks. A survivor. And there, she could reveal her whole truth to Zack. She could stand before him in the very same dress of their date, reminding him that she was the very same person.

But was she?

She worked on autopilot until the room was spotless save for the floating dust that caught the light and the blemish that was the only untidied bed—deliberately left until last. To root through his things would be to humanise him. It is so much easier to hate someone when you cannot contemplate how similar they are to you. Maybe that was their biggest issue. Similarities masked as differences.

A few photographs caught and burned her eyes. She looked away as if they'd tell Newberry she'd been snooping, pinned them up inside his cabinet as gently as she had anyone else's, then cracked her knuckles to assuage the desire to tear them into shreds. But there was one that clung to her. It slipped from the magnet and drifted onto his bed like it begged to be seen.

Closed eyes, laughter, and sun-dappled skin. A girl with dark brown hair and olive skin, freckles scattered over her nose. Dimples either side of her white smile.

A sister? A girlfriend? Maybe even Jack Newberry was capable of love.

The other side of the photograph read one word, in thin, evenly-squared letters: Hina. Aster put it back and closed the door, but the smile of the stranger stayed in her mind.

A sigh pulled from deep within her. The punishment was over. Ready to grab a nap before lunch, she reached to straighten Newberry's spare boots, to place them at the end of his bed in line with everyone else's. But something stopped her.

Her finger brushed a snag of torn stitching in the lining of his shoe. Barely wider than an inch. It was so faint, so well done, that she had to push her finger into it to be sure. Slipped straight into the padding. And something grazed her fingertip.

Her eyes widened. She worked out the card-like square. Dark and worn.

"What the hell?" she murmured, unfolding the carefully scored paper.

She had seen it before. Back when she had first caused the DIs to gut the room. When she had dived into a pile of clothes to grab her blood-soiled clothes and hidden survival knife, Newberry—whose name she did not know at the time—had snatched this. Definitely. Some kind of flyer. Slightly glossy paper, deep purple-black. Writing in white.

The end is in sight. May 8. S6, SW 209.

Aster's mouth went dry. Why bother hiding something unless you don't want it to be found?

Voices echoed down the hall. She ravelled the flyer back into its previous shape, fold lines weak and white after repetitive, almost obsessive opening and closing, and shoved it deep back into the open stitching.

She set them at the foot of his bed and returned to her own bedside, pushing her hand to her seemingly permanent migraine. The pulsing of her blood was a hammer to a bruise.

The door slid open, and the voices petered out like a boil to a simmer. Aster met none of the eyes on her, whether they held contempt or pity, and simply placed her helmet over her head and laid to rest on her damning military cot. Her bones melded to the frame. Exhaustion weighed heavily.

Newberry did not return to the barracks.

She knew this because her twenty-minute nap came and went without sleep, and because Huntington and Barnhill had big mouths.

"Heard he got hard labour without trial," Huntington said. His voice was low but somewhat nasal. Like a horn, it could not be silenced.

"Shit. Where'd you hear that?"

"Heard the DI shouting at him. He almost got recycled."

"Shit," said Barnhill again. "Back how far?"

"Beginning of Phase Three."

"Holy—that's three whole weeks. All because he—"

Aster stopped listening. All because he what? Because all he did was launch an attack on a fellow cadet? A planned attack. He locked her in the showers. He made the floor unnaturally slippery by leaving other showers to run on hot. Made it easier to get her down. Then, he waited for her. A trap.

Yeah, such a petty crime. Gaia forbid he be sent back to repeat Phase Three after knocking out a fellow recruit. Heat surged through her body.

He. Him.

What was he, some kind of god? Placed on a pedestal and revered? Were they afraid to say his name?

Jack Newberry. And Aster Doe would never bow to him, and by Goddess was she going to get to the bottom of the silk of secrets in which he cocooned himself.

She grabbed her PHS from the bedside table and wrote a note to herself,

The end is in sight. May 8. S6, SW 209, and launched the phone into the drawer with a clatter.

Yes, the end was in sight.

* * *

Days stretched longer. Weeks. Wake to a bludgeon in the gut and fall at the release of the night. Aster spent every moment she could ease free from Shinra's clutches with Zack.

The Mako in his system had fixed his fractured ribs, yet still, an ache in his chest kept him up at night. But for Aster, it was nightmares. Genetically modified insects crawling under her skin and black ooze pouring from her tear ducts. Anti-SOLDIER units ravaging Seventh Heaven. Bandersnatches, blood in the snow. Dead infantrymen. Then, the threat in the very room she attempted to sleep.

The DI referred her to the doctor's office for a prescription to aid her. The pills worked, knocked her out, but Tseng had to hit her harder in the mornings to wake her.

But no pills stopped those nightmares. No pills woke her from the feeling of hands wrapping around her throat and lifting her from her bed—because she wasn't dreaming. Tears streamed down Jack Newberry's face, caught in the red light of the sealed door.

She would choke, she would splutter, if not for the fabric shoved deep into her mouth. She hung from his hands, her own dangling against her bed. The room was dark, but not so as the real darkness pulling her. It dragged her someplace like home. Somewhere like sleep.

Until fear lit her up. All cylinders fired at once, panic, defence, and self-preservation. She stayed limp, then smashed her knee up into his crotch.

He couldn't scream. Could only stagger back and bite his wrist until his teeth pierced his skin and blood spilt over his lips to transfer the pain because anything else would wake witnesses. Give him away.

She hit the bed when he let her go. After ripping the socks shoved in her airways, she gasped for life. It seared. Tears stained her cheeks as she clung to her throat and staggered to her feet.

"Newberry," she croaked, but it wasn't worth the pain. She grabbed a pair of pants from her locker, threw them on and bolted through the door, leaving Newberry rolling on the floor, stricken by his own grief.

When it gets so bad that you fear for your life, get out, Tifa had warned in fewer words.

There was only one place where she knew safety to dwell.

She ran through the compound beyond the infantry courtyard and towards the Residentials. The fresh night air lost against the burning of her skin. She was running, but couldn't breathe. His hands may well have still been around her throat.

By the time she reached his door, she couldn't pant for the pain but her breath rasped on anyway. The agony of a circular saw grinding through her flesh from the inside out. Composure was long gone, and she rapped her knuckles against Zack's door in a panic.

It was three in the morning. He wouldn't be awake.

But he answered the door with sleep heavy on his eyelids and hair stuck at odds. "Aster?" Fear lit him up, too. "Aster—are you alright?"

She stumbled into the threshold of safety, into his arms, against his chest. A cry lurched from deep inside her, and her shoulders shook, and it all became too much to take.

He held her firmly and closed the door, but the hoarseness of her breathing must have destabilised him. He gently peeled her away from his body.

And he became utterly rigid. "Who did this to you?"

Her neck had swelled and deep bruising surfaced from beneath her pale skin. Crescent moon gouges pricked with blood, punctured by fingernails. Her lips were as dark as if she'd painted them in blood. Eyes bloodshot. Trembling.

"I c-can't," she began, voice like crumbling rocks from a cliff, "do this, anymore."

"Do what? You don't have to do anything, you're safe now, I promise," he said, and brought her head back into his chest. "I've got you."

His chest was warm against her cheek, unbearably so, in a way that overwhelmed her. But it was pulled away too soon when he brought her to another room and helped her sit down. It was only when he let go of her hand to rummage in a drawer that she realised she was amongst his sheets on his bed, with his pillows behind her back and head.

"Here," he said, sitting next to her knee and twisting the steel cap off a vial of what she knew to be a potent healing item. Frosted on the glass was the Shinra logo. "I know it'll hurt to swallow, but it'll help."

Aster couldn't help but worry. Not for the pain or the potion, but for the fact that in Zack's line of work, he was put under strain so frequently to such extent that he kept some of the most potent medicines Shinra could supply in his bedside table like anyone else might keep paracetamol. And the thought made her throat tighten, and the agony even worse.

So she took the bottle from him and tipped the liquid into her mouth. It fizzed as though it were carbonated, burned like neat whisky, and spread through her neck-like hot, sweaty hands.

Zack took the canister from a limp hand when it fell into her thigh. When the panic subsided and adrenaline evaporated from the skin, Aster lost every battle to the exhaustion that threatened her. Even keeping her eyes open became difficult. When Zack's thumb brushed against her temple, it became impossible.

"Rest up," he said. "We can talk about it tomorrow."

* * *

The room was lit but the window was dark. It took a moment to register that the light was artificial-a warm yellow glow emanated from a bedside lamp that hardly reached the four walls. It had probably been on all night. Aster could tell because it was hot.

The sheets that pulled her in weren't her own. Not the haggard green blanket she slept under in the cold, hard barracks. There was a soft, charcoal grey comforter with white pillows of cotton that breathed a quiet sigh when she sat up. They didn't crunch like plastic as hers did.

Zack wasn't here. Not in the bed anyway. In all her confusion, the feeling of safety never left her, because she could smell him on the sheets: fresh air, sand, and something like patchouli.

She could make some sense of her surroundings, like how the left side of his bed was perfectly made, besides a few creases near the edge. Like it had never been slept in. Probably hadn't. Not for a while anyway. The bedside table to the left had nothing on it, so it made sense that she was sleeping exactly where he usually would, closest to the lamp, the drawer, and closest to the door. Closest to escape? No, he probably wasn't as paranoid as she was.

Then, he walked in.

He was dressed, wearing his full uniform and sword on his back. He hesitated, clearly not having expected her to be awake yet. After all, the sun had not risen.

"How are you feeling?" he asked. He set his sword against the wall and it flashed in the low light.

"B—"She tripped over her aching throat. Words were harder to shape than she anticipated. "Better, thanks. W-where did you sleep?"

He pointed to the floor, just beyond the creases in the sheets. "Your breathing was raspy all night. I didn't wanna leave in case you choked" —he blanched, and his voice fell— "again."

"But this is your bed."

He shrugged. "You needed it more than I did."

"I…" Her voice croaked, so she rubbed her neck. That just made it worse. "I guess that's not what I meant."

He knelt beside her and ran his fingers over the swelling of her throat. It wasn't as bad as it could've been. Like the assailant had had second thoughts. "Goddess. What happened, Aster?"

She slipped her legs out of bed and pressed her hands to her eyes. At some point in the night, she removed the jeans she arrived in, coated in sweat by the heat of a spring Midgar night. So unlike the nights in the north. She hoped his eyes wouldn't wander and stick to the bruise on her thigh from Rex's boot in training a few days prior, but remembered herself. A bruised thigh was nothing on her red and blue throat.

But his fingers did trail against her injured skin. A hand on her neck, a hand on her thigh. She swallowed. It ached.

"Do you know who it was? Who did this to you?"

Her lip quivered. The truth gave away too much. Neither could she bring herself to lie. "I-I can't…"

Zack was quiet for a moment, like her reluctance told him everything he needed to understand. "It was someone you know," he said. His fingers curled into his palm atop of her leg. She didn't breathe a word.

The sound of a heavy fist pounded at the door and broke the immediate tension. Zack swore under his breath. For a moment, he looked to ignore it. Until a voice barked his name.

Aster glanced at the time, 7:23, stamped in red across an old digital clock with worn buttons across the top where Zack had smacked it too many times. The screen was cracked across the seven where he had perhaps once knocked it off the side, or hit it far too hard. "You're late," she croaked shortly, because more words meant more pain.

"Just a sec," he said, and left the bedroom.

Every word drifted through the door left ajar.

"Zack—for Gaia's sake, answer your goddamn PHS once in a while." The voice, deep and rich—and right now, positively reverberating—could only belong to one man. Angeal Hewley, SOLDIER First Class, and although he had little professional bearing on Zack's attitude and conduct by virtue of equal rank, he held a powerful sway over the younger man, residual of the days he was his mentor.

"Sorry, something came up."

"Yes, something came up," Angeal said close to snapping. "One of the cadets is missing."

Aster tensed like his words were physical and flew for her face. She pulled on her jeans.

"One of mine?" Zack asked.

"No, mine. The girl. She did not report to the Turks this morning, and the DI hasn't seen her since late last night."

Aster sucked a breath through her nose and her heart drummed against her ribs. Would he, a man who owed her nothing and knew her nought, honour a promise he had no reason to keep?

I won't tell Zack. Not while it is none of my business.

"Tseng and Reno are currently looking for her. I thought I'd ask—"he hesitated "—if you had seen her."

She slipped through the door, staring at her feet. As Zack told him he hadn't seen her. Why would he have seen her?

Then Aster looked up at Angeal and his brow creased deeply in discontent until his eyes could recognise that that was no dark shadow cast over her neck.

"What on earth," was all he managed.

She sheepishly lifted her hand to cover her throat.

Eventually, Angeal cut through the slick. The bruising that wrapped Aster's neck like a noose went unaddressed. But if it was a noose, it was in Angeal's hand, and it was his decision whether to kick out the life-preserving stool beneath her feet.

He made his decision. He said, "Well. If you see her, ensure that she attends combat training. Without good reason, she will be punished." His eyes flicked to Aster's. "I'm sure she has good reason."

She only looked away. He continued, "As for you, Zack, we've mission plans to finalise, and you're over an hour behind schedule. Hurry up. Where's your sword?"

"Shit," he muttered. Of course, Angeal was never caught more than a three-foot radius from his sword and expected all SOLDIER members and certainly his former mentee to maintain the same standard.

When he ducked back into the bedroom, Angeal leaned towards Aster with severity etched into the lines of his face. "These lies must stop. Report to Tseng at your earliest opportunity."

"Yes, sir," she breathed.

"I will not cover for you again."

"Understood, sir," she said, then lightly shook her head with defeat sitting on her shoulders. "You won't have to, sir."

"Good."

Zack returned and holstered his sword across his back. Angeal turned to him. "Meet me in the usual briefing room in thirty minutes. Lazard will not be kept waiting."

"Yeah, you got it, 'Geal," he said, but lacked the carefree and careless tone he was known for.

The front door closed on him and quiet took hold for a beat. Zack said, "I'm sorry."

Aster spoke her bravest against the ache. "You shouldn't be. You've already done so much for me."

He shook his head. "This mission plan, the actual mission is scheduled for this weekend. I'll be away for about four days. What if this happens again?"

"It won't."

"How are you so sure?"

"I—I do know who did it. You were right. And I know it won't happen again." She fought the urge to cough when her voice scratched her mouth like she'd swallowed a box of pins.

Zack placed his hand where Newberry's had been the night before and smoothed it over her inflamed skin. The same place, an entirely different touch. She didn't flinch. "What the hell happened, Aster?"

She took his wrist in her hands. "When you come back, I'll tell you everything.

I promise."


	21. Newberry's Gravamen

**A/N: Back on time, go me. Got to celebrate the small stuff. **

**Low key stressing about how little pre-written material I have left. Editing takes me SO GODDAMN long that I sometimes have no time to write anything new. Might have to take a couple of weeks in September in order to get ahead again but we'll cross that bridge when we come to it. We've got about six pre-written chapters left. **

**Incidentally, I highly doubt there will be an update next Wednesday as I am suuuuper busy this week and next. Unless there is some kind of out and out miracle, expect a Legacy-less week. Big big sad. Sorry guys. Do keep an eye out on my profile/bio for update information; I always write there if I'm not going to hit an update :D (Or maybe that should be a sad face :( )**

**As usual, I hope you have yourself a fantastic week and I will leave you with Newberry's Gravamen. **

21st Aug '19

* * *

**Chapter 21: Newberry's Gravamen**

Aster Doe returned to training. She did not report to the Turks, nor to the infirmary. When she stepped through the door into Tifa's theatre, Tseng was waiting. Had claimed the stage, as it were. Aster wondered if he had been looking for her at all. Probably not. He was practically omniscient, after all.

The mirror along the far wall remained smashed and splintered from the first break-in nearly a month ago. She thought it was a safer place to look than Tseng's face, yet somehow, in one of thousands of fragments, a cold blue eye ran through hers.

Sweat rose at the back of her neck. She blinked, and the eye was gone. Newberry was going to haunt her forever. He would always have his hand on her throat.

Said throat hid beneath the stiff, mint green infantry cowl that most cadets didn't wear. Suppose it wasn't too unusual. A few wore them. Rohrbach, for instance, always wore his. Sparrow, usually. Rex, never. Newberry would be the only one to know the truth that lay beneath.

And whether she was ashamed of herself or not was irrelevant; she couldn't afford not to cover up, in case she bumped into Zack in the days before he left for the mission he was planning. So this would have to do.

Zack.

She'd told him there was no possible way she'd be attacked again in the next few days. An empty string of words. A bracelet without a chain—sure, the component parts were there, the right thing to say, but no substance kept them together. Pass Out was Sunday. She was certain he'd strike again before then.

Tseng didn't even look at her. "Doe. Get over here."

When she appeared next to him, he tapped her helmet with a stun rod synonymous with Reno's Favourite. "Off."

She put it on the floor.

The redness of her eyes and the shadows beneath them weren't extraordinary only because they were on her face in particular. It would have been stranger to see her looking rested. So it didn't give her away.

Tseng eyed the recruits for a moment. "Sparrow, please remove your helmet and come forward."

Aster grew stiff, not looking at either Tseng or Sparrow as he approached. If the former was still trying to ostracise her, he needn't. The game was nearly over. There was no way he could make her comrades hate her any more than they already did.

Yet she still thought of them as comrades.

And it was true, some of them acted like it.

Tseng was speaking. "Doe granted you some form of notoriety. I only know your name thanks to her pointing out your weaknesses."

Sparrow looked at Aster. His hair was wispy like a toddler that hadn't had its first hair cut yet. Foxy brown eyes. Young. So young. He was smiling at her. It was like the acceptance of an apology she hadn't had chance to give. Acceptance of the apology for their immediate fate in the next five minutes.

Tseng didn't notice this exchange. He said to Sparrow, "Consider it a chance to recover your dignity. And Doe, a chance to validate your judgment. Proof that your observations are not incorrect. The battle will end when the other cannot return to his or her feet, understood?"

Aster glanced at Tifa, whose face was covered with a sheet of long hair. Her fists were clenched. Aster wouldn't have been able to tell they were trembling if not for the charm bracelet that rattled limply against her glove.

She looked back when Sparrow extended his hand to her. She grasped it firmly and found herself offering a smile. Yeah. He deserved a real fight. She wouldn't pity him.

"Begin."

Archie lunged for her and Aster threw her arms up to block his immediate blow. Quick strikes, but not faster than her reflexes. She ducked beneath a punch and struck him in the side of the ribs, stripping him of breath and offence.

He staggered back, and Aster's boot flew for his chin. He blocked it, and she rammed her weight down, grabbed his shoulder, and pulled back her fist. Knuckles jutting, ready to shunt his eyeball.

She froze. In reality, it was a fraction of a second. She was fighting to win, not to kill. Archie was not an enemy. He wasn't a Wutai troop or a monster. He wasn't someone trying to kill her. It was up to her own sense of restraint to keep from crossing that line. But the line was hazy. All she'd been taught was to not hold back—her battles had taught her that. But where did Tseng draw that line? Where did Shinra draw that line? And were they different?

She whipped her fist across Archie's face in a backhanded slap instead. Just as unexpected. Almost more than. Her knuckles cracked against his jaw and throbbed.

He was like her. Light, slight, and quick. Could do with a weaponry aid to do real damage. He slammed his palms into her ribs. The floorboards skimmed beneath her feet until she planted them and launched back into him with an uppercut deep in the gut. Her fist left him ripping a heave of air into his lungs, doubled over.

His face went purplish and eyes bulged, and she wondered if she had toed over that line. Then, he threw his body weight at her in her hesitation. Her back hit the floor and she swept her leg through his to bring him down with her. Winded and choking. She straddled him and drew back her fist once more, with the other bundling his shirt. Her eyes quivered.

Then she struck him in the nose.

Aster swore under her breath and cupped the back of his neck to keep his lolling head steady. His eyes fluttered as he fought against their desire to roll back.

"Hey, come on, buddy. You'll be alright," she said, feeling the energy of the fight rolling away from her. The headspace failing. Dread replacing.

She loudly disagreed with Tseng's tactics, yet it was also she who implemented them. And at this point, he hardly had to prompt her. She looked up at him, and he said nothing. Black, emotionless eyes. Detached.

She rubbed her face in an attempt to wipe the grime of regret from her skin.

"The defeated male. Pliable and submissive. Overwhelmed," Tseng said. The soles of his boots thunked against the wood as he stepped closer. "He waited for the final blow. Willed for it. The sooner he lost, the sooner the end of the pain came."

She scowled, and turned to Archie, helping him sit his back to the wall, near the broken mirror. No. She didn't think he willed for it. He put up a fight, or at least he was trying to. He didn't roll over and wait for the cheetah to bite into his neck like an injured gazelle.

Aster spun to her feet, ready to argue, but Tseng stopped her. "Doe. Is he still the weakest?"

He cocked a slim eyebrow. Somewhere in his dark eyes there was a glint. No longer shut off. His naturally downturned lips did not quirk. His posture, broad and solid, did not change. But in those black eyes, in the faintest, slightest flick of his brow somewhere in the connection between their stare, she saw—felt—a smile.

Her mouth bunched in a poorly contained grin. "No. No, he's not." Her voice croaked. She hoped no one noticed.

"Why not?"

"There's strength in perseverance. In carrying on, even when your weaknesses are constantly pointed out."

"Then who is?"

Her eyes flicked to Newberry's. Already set on her. Ready.

"Say it," Newberry said. "I want you to."

Tseng beckoned him over with the point of his stun rod. "Say it here."

Tifa pressed her fingers to her temples and stretched the skin of her forehead to alleviate the pressure headache she was no doubt experiencing. She watched under the hood of scrunched eyebrows, as if it were too bright to watch head-on.

Newberry stalked across the floorboards. Small, set, but bright blue eyes, simultaneously dark. Strange. Large mouth and square jaw. Maybe he could be attractive if he smiled, but Aster couldn't even imagine it. Not without seeing it as though it were carved in a pumpkin or hacked out of a tree with an axe. Maybe it would be warm and inviting. Not to her, though. She knew that much. Aster and Newberry could never be friends. They would never recover from this.

With locked horns, neither of them wanted to.

Aster sucked a breath through her nose. She was shaking. He was not. Then, she nodded. "Foolhardy. Volatile. Violent. Cowardly. Arrogant."

"Arrogant?" A growled gurgled in his throat. His temper was a thread holding the weight of a boulder. "You. You are arrogant. Arrogant and ignorant. Just as foolhardy. Just as volatile."

"I didn't say I wasn't weak," she said without inflection. "Just stronger than you."

Tseng crossed his arms over his chest. "Well. One of you is the weakest here. That much is certain."

Both flicked their eyes to him. Neither willing to bet on themselves so much as the other.

Tseng looked at them both in turn. "This ends here."

Which meant something different to both of them.

Newberry thrust his hand out into the space between them. Keeping up appearances, maintaining his grand sense of honour, insisting that he was the better man. One of them. She deliberated. Wary of dirty tricks.

Then she took it. He squeezed her hand so firmly as to force her glove to slip at the wrist, revealing her bracelet and watch. If Tseng noticed her contraband—which he almost certainly did—he didn't mention it.

"Begin," he said.

Newberry let go of her hand. Then he grabbed it again, and her elbow, and twisted her arm sharply.

At the same time, Tifa rallied out the cadets under the pretence of an outdoor workout. She couldn't interfere with Tseng, but she could at least prevent his influence from affecting the rest of the squad. Sparrow remained slumped against the mirror. Rohrbach stayed with him. With the yelp that scratched through Aster's mouth as she swung herself to the ground to alleviate the tension Newberry twisted into her bones, Rex pushed back through the cadets that filed through the door to Tifa, who tried only half-heartedly to stop him.

On the floor—already, within seconds—Aster gripped Newberry's arm as he tried to pull away and launched her feet into his stomach to distance him. She rolled to stand.

Newberry outmatched her in size and strength. But if she was to be a Turk and he was to be in SOLDIER, she needed to be able to overpower him even after his enhancements, let alone before.

He lurched for a blow to her throat. Aster brought her arms up to block him and tucked her chin low. His fist connecting with her arms surged her with pain and rage. Her breaths whistled through ground teeth. Eyes grew dark.

She burst forth with her knee into his gut and ducked under his wrecking ball swing. She hopped back, holding her fists chin height in defence of her neck, and he smacked his fist into her arms again. Blow after blow.

Aster bounced back, grabbed his wrist, and kicked him in the side with a thud. She brought her other knee up into his chest.

It was like he planned it. He swung upwards and sank a fist into the cowl around her throat.

The force brought her to her tiptoes and she hit the ground like a wooden puppet. The floorboards creaked under the impact. She rolled onto her knees, clutching her neck. The fingers of her free hand clutched uselessly for something to give her breath. Her windpipe was as narrow as the eye of a needle, no matter how hard she gasped. Only the thread of a wheeze pulled through.

Otherwise, the room was silent.

Newberry looked down on her. "Foolhardy. Volatile. Violent. Cowardly. Arrogant."

Tseng, too, eyed her. "Stand before the man you believe to be the weakest."

A grunt made it past her lips as she picked herself from the ground with shaking elbows. She rolled back her shoulders and found her feet. One foot in front of the other until she stood uncomfortably close to Newberry. Until she could smell his sweat and feel his breath on her cheeks. Close enough that she could watch the muscles of his shoulders tense under his t-shirt.

His face twitched like he'd either kiss her or headbutt her. There was a bet she was willing to make there.

"Fight again," Tseng said.

Her eyes widened as she ducked under Newberry's incoming headbutt. Internally, she laughed. Right she was. She drove her fists into his stomach. He barely groaned, like it was a small inconvenience. Like she'd parked in a spot he was eyeing up. Then he cracked his linked hands into her back, and his knee into her face. As she grew more tired, his job became easier.

The leader gets further in the lead, and the loser falls further behind. It was like torture. But Tseng insisted.

Aster did well, but not enough. Newberry packed a pile driver into her chest and she hit the ground so hard and so fast there was surely little more she could take. She arched her back, groaning, and her feet slipped as she tried to get up. It took crawling to get to her hands and knees as the room spun. Splashes of colour danced across her vision. Red, purple, black. Only Tseng's words ran through her head.

Pliable and submissive. Waiting for the final blow. Willing for it. The sooner you lose, the sooner the end of the pain comes.

Aster Doe would never submit to Newberry.

Torture training, almost. Endurance. Tseng was trying to teach her to endure. Over and over. Endure, persevere, like the qualities she pointed out in Sparrow. Endure the beating. Pain only serves to remind you to stay alive. Or so this was the excuse Aster gave to permit Tseng's behaviour. A little lie to help come to terms with the fact that he merely watched with blatant disconnect as her body grew weaker with every impact. To come to terms with the fact that he seemed perfectly okay with that. That he truly did not care about her at all. And why would he?

She staggered to her feet once again, grasping on to each laboured breath. "Newberry. What the hell…is this? What did I do to you? You're always so angry; your sanity hangs on by a worn thread—"

"You know nothing about me," he said, with a quiet, calculated voice worse than if he had screamed. "You don't know why I'm here. What I'm fighting for."

"Then tell me."

"Stop talking," Tseng barked. "Fight."

Newberry drove his fist into her jaw. Pain splintered up to her temples and the bridge of her nose like tremors that cracked frozen lakes. She hit the floor.

"Newberry, tell me," she said, almost a whimper, almost a whisper. Some breathy whine between the two. "Because I don't even know why we're fighting anymore."

His fists shook as he grabbed her shirt and yanked her up to her feet. His breathing was so concentrated, whistling through gritted teeth, that his saliva foamed. The taste of rage. It flicked onto her cheek. She didn't flinch.

She narrowed her eyes. "Tell me. Who is the girl in the photo in your cabinet door?"

And he smashed her back into the ground.

* * *

It took her a few moments to come around. It could only have been seconds, just seconds of darkness and rest, the body protecting itself from further trauma, because vision returned from black in time to watch Newberry storm off and punch the wall. The sound a sickeningly empty thud and crack.

Aster rolled onto her side. The room lurched, vision blurred. She felt for the floor. Hands and knees. "Newberry," she seethed.

He whirled around. She'd seen him like this before. He was always broad, stocky, muscular, but fury pumped his shoulders out as though they bulged, and painted his face red. Built like a bull.

"Tell me…about May eighth," Aster said.

And the bull shrank to a calf.

His pupils pulled away and the whites of his eyes dwarfed his irises.

The faintest of gasps escaped Tifa's lips. When Rex looked at her, she said, "Is she taunting him or something?"

Rex had no answers.

"Tell me, Newberry," Aster growled. Her voice was roughed up by the gravel walls of her swollen throat. "Because if you don't, you can bet your goddamned ass cheeks…that I'm gonna find out.

"Because I will find out," she said, clambering to her weak feet. "I won't stop until I do."

He launched towards her with a scream growing in his throat.

Tseng stepped between them. A hand on Newberry's chest, a finger pointing at Aster. "Doe," he said. "You cannot fight."

Her jaw clenched, twitched at the sides.

"You've been defeated."

"I can carry on."

"And do what damage?"

Aster looked at Newberry. He stood five inches taller than her on a good day. Now she was slouching with fatigue and holding herself to protect her neck, he towered over her. Even though he panted through tiredness and the paling of his face, he still bettered her. The anger within him outmatched hers, and it would fuel him to the end of the earth.

Aster looked down.

"But can you sit by, defeated, and tell your opponent he is still the weakest man in this squad?" Tseng asked.

If he was testing her gall, he needn't bother. She met Newberry's eyes once more. "Comfortably."

Tseng folded his arms. "I quite agree."

He commanded the gaze of everyone in the room. Then, he smiled. But it wasn't a real smile—it didn't reach his eyes. "Commiserations, cadet. You will be discharged, effective immediately."

"What?" Newberry spluttered.

"Doe chose you."

Aster's eyebrows twisted upward, mouth puckered to pose her confusion into words. Tseng didn't allow it. He interrupted her breath. "She was given the arbitrary power to remove an individual she saw unfit to continue. It lands with you. Goodbye."

The sound of gasping didn't come from Aster, though her jaw dropped hard enough. It might have come from Rex or Tifa, maybe Rohrbach or Sparrow, but certainly not from Newberry himself. His eyes widened with his undoing, the unravelling of the cocoon he thought he was so secure in. Fear, true defeat. He snapped his head left and right as two Red Cap officers entered the room on Tseng's command, Rude taking up the rear. They didn't initially take him. Not until after he grabbed Aster's shoulders with clammy palms and sweating temples. Eyes bulging from his head and nails digging into her skin.

He screamed. Face not merely red, but bordering purple. "You have no idea what you've just done!"

The guards yanked him off her. He must have hit her again because her eyes felt clouded by murky water, and she sank slowly to the floorboards.

* * *

Aster must have closed her eyes because next she knew, something was pressed to her face. Something cold, but nice. Her head rested on someone's knee.

She shot her eyes open and her eyeballs ached under the barrage of bright lights, because for a moment she thought she was in Zack's safe embrace. So when she was not met by sky blue eyes with a tiny hint of lavender, she was confused by those of a foxy brown. Something tawny and warm, like whiskey—though she couldn't imagine him drinking it. At that moment, she decided she was going to buy him a glass.

It was Archie Sparrow, and he smiled when she looked at him. "Hey."

His face was bruised where she'd smacked him, but he seemed to wear it proudly. She could see now, looking at him properly, that his eyelashes reminded her of those of a chocobo, long and fair. He helped her sit up, holding the ice pack to her cheek. She stared at him in her confusion, so he averted his eyes a couple of times and stammered for words.

"They'll come over when they notice you're alert."

She looked around. 'They' could only be Rex and Tifa, who appeared to be in a heated argument in furious whispers, but upon closer inspection were actually rather intensely agreeing with each other. Tifa's hands on her hips, Rex's flailing in the space between them. Then she saw Rohrbach not far from them, not actively participating in their conversation, but listening with the same severe expression he always wore. He reminded her a bit of Angeal in that way.

The Red Caps were gone, Rude was gone.

Newberry was gone.

Some kind of justice, at last, for the hell he had been bent on exposing her to.

Archie was watching the group, too. "They think you're insane," he said. His eyes shone. "I think you're brave. Wish I had some of your courage."

A warmth spread through Aster's chest as she smiled faintly. "Wish I had some of yours." She took the cold pack from him and held it herself. "You'll …you're gonna make SOLDIER someday. I know it. And I mean it. Just…keep going."

He smiled. "You keep going, too."

Tseng appeared and cast the pair in a shadow. The smile slipped from Archie's face, delicate as it was. Aster stood to meet him.

"Tseng—"

"What's wrong with your throat?"

"Wait, what?" She practically made a double-take. "You don't know?"

He knew so much of everything else, she had assumed—

"Know what?"

"W-wait—why did you just kick out Newberry if not as punishment—?"

"Answer the question."

"He attacked me. He," Aster spoke hesitantly, aware that Sparrow was in earshot, "strangled me in the middle of the night." She shook her head. "You really didn't know?"

He tucked his chin into his hand. "Interesting. Did he mention why?"

She rolled her eyes. "Sorry, Tseng, I missed the exposition when I was running for my life."

"Pity. Run away after the dramatic villainous monologue next time, won't you?"

She frowned. "Did you just make a joke?"

"Concentrate."

"Sorry," she said. "How did you know he hurt my throat?"

"Your body language. The same he was detecting—or so I thought. I apparently gave him too much credit. He obviously knew very well the weaknesses you faced since he inflicted them. But for example, you tucked your chin an inch further than usual and kept your guard high, even when he was clearly hitting low. And of course, throat punches are effective and damaging, but your reaction when hit was much more intense than it ought to have been. And now that you are speaking, your voice is gravelly. You should check yourself into the infirmary before the end of the evening. Consider it an order."

"Understood," she said, giving a soft salute out of habit.

And he left.

Aster realised then, stood next to Sparrow who looked at her as though she were a kicked puppy, that she gained no answers. Only questions. Aster had never been given the arbitrary power to remove an individual as she saw fit—not expressly, anyway. Not in so many words. And if Tseng didn't kick Newberry out because he practically tried to kill her, then why did he?

But he was gone.

There was no epic showdown. No dramatic argument or satisfying end. Newberry was gone, Aster remained,

and nothing would ever be the same again.


	22. The Special Combatants, Two and Four

**A/N: This update is totally on time. It's late Wednesday, but totally still Wednesday. This counts. (I feel like all my A/Ns are apologising or making excuses for being late.) SO we're getting some major Aster and Rex vibing in this chapter and I'm living for it, no word of a lie. ALSO: I mean no offence to any Lachlans, Nates or Brads out there potentially reading this :) None were harmed in the making of this chapter. **

**To the guest reviewer who literally made my night the other day, I'm super glad to hear you're enjoying this—it's really nice to hear from you and I really loved reading your thoughts. Honestly, recently I've really been struggling with motivation and I think that comes from a fear of disappointing or underwhelming the reader. I guess I'm my harshest critic. I've got a lot of plot threads flying around, and they should all come to sufficiently satisfying ends, I hope!**

**I would love love love to address everything you wrote, but to keep this from getting ridiculously long (because I am prone to over-excitement), I will simply put this: YAS. I'm so pleased (-with everything that you said but in particular-) that Aster pisses you off sometimes—she should. I feel like very, very often in this story characters (not just Aster, either) make the wrong decisions or at least questionable decisions. I wanted that to emulate real life. When Aster snaps back at people, when she fought with Newberry in Stabscotch, when she taunted him in the fight that ultimately got him kicked out: were these the right things for her to do? People do morally grey things way more frequently than we realise, I think. Everything can be questioned—and indeed, everything should be questioned! All in all, I don't think everything is as it seems, even when it seems most like it is. Thank you so much for reaching out, and thank you to everyone who continues to read this and share this ride with me!**

**Once again, I hope you all have a super fantastic week—see you in the next update! **

4th Sep '19

* * *

**Chapter 22: The Special Combatants, Two and Four**

"I'm gonna kill that bastard."

Surrexit found out about the choking incident.

"Yes, because that's just what I need," said Aster Doe, rolling her eyes and slipping down from his offered piggyback. "Two murderous nutjobs."

The steel caps of her boots clicked against the concrete of the barracks floor. Rohrbach and Sparrow—who had lingered in the training room and infirmary for about as long as Aster and Rex had—weaved around them towards their respective beds.

Twenty-four cadets began on this journey, and only did twenty beds remain occupied. One bed, deserted but not pristine, stuck out most. At first glance, Aster's lungs constricted, a reflex, a scar, almost, left by Newberry's impression. It began to subside when she remembered he wasn't coming back, but her relief was no flood. It was a sand-timer filled with a whole stretch of beach, letting out only one grain at a time.

His bed laid precisely as it had when he left, right down to the fine creases from where he had last sat upon it in that boxy, rigid way he always did. His cabinet door was still hanging open by a slice. No one had moved the digital watch that blinked a red eye with each passing second on his bedside table, and no one had touched the shirt that must have fallen from his cupboard, despite the fact it would be a blatant failure of barracks standards if seen.

It was a perfect, untouched memento, like a shrine, and the air surrounding it was still and thick as a preserving agent. Its own contained environment. Aster's lips tightened as she fought the urge to strip it and make it immaculate like everyone else's stations so it no longer stood out, or trash it, like defiling his grave before the body went cold.

Her clenched fists loosened when she realised her indecision spoke loud and clear; she wouldn't go anywhere near it. Ever.

Even if she wanted to. Even if she considered the potential rewards of rifling through his things for clues as to the secrets he so tightly held in the fists of stone he hit her with. Inclinations as to what that flyer could have meant, or what might transpire on the eighth of May. She couldn't bring herself to go near it. Some Turk she was. Tseng would have been disappointed.

The eighth of May. Three days after pass out. Ten weeks until…whatever comes next. SOLDIER for Rex, if he makes it. The Turks for Aster. The test? Or the task?

* * *

The silent disquiet that blanketed the barracks made it easy, at least, to read. To ignore the world, to hide her face behind a thick leather bind and hardcover: the monster compendium that Tseng had given Aster to study weeks before. She'd been through it a hundred times already, preparing for Tseng's frequent pop quizzes, but now she was a woman possessed, flicking over the same few pages over and over. Anything to occupy the mind.

Specifically enthralled by the anti-SOLDIER monsters that managed to ground even Zack, of First Class. Of course, the clue was in the name. But how could they possess such unimaginable strength? What was within them that made them so incredibly strong beyond measure?

Rex crouched beside her bed, leaning to see what was taking her so long to read. When she didn't respond to his presence, he craned his neck to get a look at the yellowed pages. Head right in the way of her line of sight.

"Rex," she growled.

"What," he said, and from the sound of his voice alone, she could tell he was grinning.

Aster glared at the back of his head, brought her knees up and rested the book open against her thighs. She pointed to a sketch of a Vajradhara Tai—a sketch she knew to be accurate since she had had the blessed misfortune of verifying it with her own eyes.

"This thing here? This is what attacked Zack and I when we were in the elevator shaft. It threw this weapon," she said, pointing to a detailed drawing of the club that was as large as she was, "and just missed us. It clipped Zack's shoulder guard."

"Shit," Rex muttered. His hazel eyes scanned across the text, flicking left and right faster than Aster could comprehend with his brow in a hard line.

"Shit is right. And they're huge. If I were to put it to scale, Zack at six foot one- or two-ish, he'd meet maybe half its height," she said, rubbing her finger up and down the page, indicating the height of the man in question.

Rex snorted. "So. You'd be, like, knee-height."

"Oh, shove off," she said, literally shoving his shoulder while he snickered to himself and grabbed the bed frame to save his precarious balance. "I'm not even short."

"Not tall either, though, are ya?"

"You're not exactly a tower of a man, yourself." She pushed her nose up with her finger. "Are you even six-foot?"

"Yes, thanks."

Aster blinked as if to clear her eyes. "Wait, are you actually?"

"Yeah."

"Can I measure you?"

"No," he said, crinkling his nose.

"Why not?"

"'Cause I don't need you to validate me!"

"Obviously lying, then."

"How tall do you think I am?"

"I dunno," Aster said with a shrug. "Five-ten?"

"No way," he said, rattling the bed frame with his vigour. "I'm taller than that, an' proud of it! Do you know how long I had to wait to grow those extra two inches?"

Aster's eyebrows shot up and her eyes trailed back to the book. "That ain't none of my business."

"You're bloody unbelievable," he said. "Whatever. So this thing, it's often accompanied by a…Vajradhara Wu, yeah? That's what it says right here."

"Right," Aster said, turning the page. It blew the sigh of musk and sweetness that old books are known for, and then she noticed, given his proximity, that Rex smelt much the same. "That's what destroyed the first elevator—with its axe. The second, the Tai, was the one that attacked us directly. And Gaia," she said, almost breathless for a moment, "Zack destroyed that one with a Blizzaga spell. I've never seen anything like it, it was incredible. We'll get to do some materia lesson stuff in School of SOLDIER, right? After BCT?"

"Mate, I hope so. I've been gasping to get my hands on some of that stuff. It's so freakin' expensive in Rocket Town, though, and they don't look much worth having, either."

"You can't even buy materia in Icicle Inn. People that own some sort of pass it through their families."

"Bet Fire is popular there."

Aster laughed. "Yeah. But we start fires the old-fashioned way, too. The ol' flint an' steel kit. Do you know, it's mandatory in the Knowlespole to have a fire lighting kit on you if you leave the vicinity of the town. In case you die."

"Not gonna be useful if you die."

"You know what I mean. In case you get stuck or lost. You ever need to light a fire, and you have no materia" —she jabbed her thumb to her chest— "I'm your girl."

"Aw, thanks. If you ever need someone to help you escape a building in the event that a rusty old rocket falls out of its bracket, I'm your boy."

"That sounds like really crucial knowledge for my everyday life. Good to know we have each other's backs with these completely equally practical skills of ours."

"Isn't it, though?" he said with a fake grin that took over his face, then allowed it to subside into a genuine laugh. "So, the Wu, then. One threw an axe at you?"

"Right, then Zack killed it with some kind of Fire-based spell. It was weaponless. Then, there was a Cala." She flicked over the page once more. Of course, all the sketches were in the soft greyscale of graphite, so to Rex, the Cala seemed virtually identical to the Wu, right down to the axe in its hand. Before he could spot any differences, Aster turned a few pages back to the start of the section and read from the text. "Any pair of Vajradhara-variant anti-SOLDIER monsters can combine their efforts into an attack known to the unlucky few as Twin Tomahawk, an unavoidable assail against their target. Note that these attacks have not been observed in the Rakshasa, Kinnara, or Asura variant of Vajradhara."

The pages fluttered again. Back and forth. Vajradhara Asura, similar to that of the others. According to the author, troll-like and unfathomably large with swells of muscles bulging beneath stone-grey skin and glistening red armour. It held a flail whose striking end dangled from an industrial chain and could have weighed as much as Aster and Rex put together. Maybe twice that. But there was no data to back up that assumption because no one had the opportunity to report back alive. A hit from that meant lights out forever.

Rex cocked his head to the side at her folded features. "What are you trying to work out?"

"No one knows what they are or where they came from," Aster said, tapping the page with her fingertip like a woodpecker's bill. "They look biological as opposed to, I don't know, mechanical or pseudo-bio, but where did they come from? They aren't natural. These things don't just grow in the wild and frolic with the flowers."

Rex leaned his elbows against her bed and his chin in his hand. He narrowed his eyes at the page. "Are they Wutai's answer to SOLDIER?"

"Well, yeah, they're anti-SOLDIER—"

"That's not what I meant," he said, taking her wrist to move her hand from in front of the picture. "I meant, are these their own version of SOLDIER? Their own kind of—"

Rex trailed off, and his eyes slid from the page to her limp hand in his grip, at the faint shine of graphite over her fingerprint from incessant fumbling over words and images.

"What?"

The red lamp over the door turned green with a faint click of a faulty ballast within the bulb.

"Attention," the Red Cap ordered, but he needn't have done. Twenty cadets snapped to their positions at the ends of their beds with hands tucked at the small of their backs reflexively.

The DI in the red uniform marched in with a blackboard under his arm sheathed in a black cloth. He passed six men to his left, a space with only boots in place, then another four men, and finally jolted a folded up easel-like stand into shape and laid the blackboard atop.

"There will be no pomp and grandeur until the pass out ceremony on Sunday. These are but your final tallies of Basic." He grabbed the fabric in a gloved fist. Chin at a right angle to his neck and beady eyes set forward beneath the lip of his cap, he, too, seemed to snap into the military mould on command. He cleared his throat and began his scripted speech. "Cadets. These are the final BCT scores that will be delivered to those in charge of deciding whether you make it into SOLDIER at the end of your next stage within the infantry."

"But," he shouted, to quell the growing mutters of apprehension back into submission. "This is not a perfect indicator of your progress. You will continue to be closely monitored for eight weeks after pass out, during which time you will remain in this accommodation. These scores will also be numerically tallied and delivered to SOLDIER and Public Safety branch leaders, as will your health, constitution and mental resistance records, and of course, the result of your SOLDIER examinations. The SOLDIER exam is perhaps most important of all, so do not become complacent on receipt of a decent score here. Neither should you allow a poor one to destroy your motivation to become better."

His voice reeled as though he read from an autocue. "In the event of failure on any grounds, you may reapply to SOLDIER once each quarter. Positions are always available in the infantry, where you may decide to pursue a career in the captain branch, the Security Department, Junon branch, or perhaps as a medic or an underwater MP if you're real damn good."

He ripped the cloth from the board, for the first time exposing surnames followed by fore. "Congratulations. None of you did shit enough to get kicked out."

#1: Rohrbach, Lukas

#2: Surrexit, Joshua

#3: Newberry, Jack

The Red Cap hesitated. He reached into his pocket for a stub of chalk and scratched through Jack Newberry's name unceremoniously, then left the chalk on the shelf beneath it.

#4: Doe, Aster

#5: Huntington, Samuel

She turned to Rex and grinned as cadets crossed the room and grouped together to relish in their accomplishments as the Red Cap abandoned the room.

"Third, huh?" he said with a grin, ruffling her hair.

"Fourth," she said. "Just because he's not here, doesn't mean I beat him."

Rex rolled his eyes and poked her in the forehead. Then, Aster skimmed to the bottom of the leaderboard.

#20: Sparrow, Archibald

And the boy wasn't far away from the chalkboard, grinning with Rohrbach and another of the boys. He distinctly shrugged his shoulders and offered what Aster assumed to be a self-deprecating joke that garnered a laugh. She found herself grinning with him, even all the way across the room. Good for him.

Then her grin took the taste of misbehaviour when she turned back her Rex. Lips curled up a smirk. When she opened her mouth to speak, he cut her off. "Don't."

She did anyway. "Joshua?"

"Oh, Gaia."

"You don't look much like a Joshua. A thousand names I might've had in mind, Joshua was not one of them."

"Sorry to disappoint," he said flatly.

"I just thought you'd have more of a douchey kinda name. Lachlan. Nate. Brad."

"So, a frat boy name?"

"Dude—yes. That's exactly it."

"Great," he said. "For the record, you don't look like an Aster, either."

"What do Asters look like?" she asked, folding her arms and dropping a hip.

"Like Heathers and Daisys."

"You're just associating plants."

"Oh," he said, then snorted. "You're right."

"Do you hate your own name or something?"

"Or something, yeah," he said, then ran his fingers into his hair at the base of his skull. "I'd rather be remembered as Surrexit."

* * *

Most of the following day was spent undergoing drill practice for the pass out ceremony. Apparently, Rufus Shinra would be present, and all new infantry members needed to be up to the impeccable standards expected of them. Not least because it would reflect poorly on the department.

The muscles in Aster's arms agonised with every movement after only a short while of swinging around those unwieldy rifles, although something was satisfying about twenty recruits moving in perfect unison at the blow of a whistle. Uniform smacking of heels into the ground. It would sound even better the next day, where one or two hundred recruits would stand.

And when the evening came, the recruits—for their last evening of being just that; recruits—were given free time. Relatively normal for Aster, granted it was the only time off she had, but still. Everyone else looked at a loss. Not like puppies that bounded off the lead with the opportunity, but old dogs that had never been given the chance, more confused than they could be curious.

That was what Aster was thinking about, cheek bunched in her palm against the bar in Seventh Heaven. Her eyes drifted onto a random man who happened to be in a suit. Then she wondered, did she get every Saturday evening free because Tseng was with Elena?

"What're you thinking about?" said a girl snapping her fingers in front of Aster's face. Brown, leather gloves. A dainty silver charm bangle. Aster looked at her, Tifa. "You're making the bar look a mess!"

"She doesn't have a very inviting look on her face, does she?" said Rex.

Of all the puppies let off-leash, Rex looked the most lost. So she brought him along.

"Don't exactly look inviting at all, do I?" she said, slipping down the turtleneck Tifa lent her. "I'm wearing a three-inch-thick bruise for a choker—which is brutally ironic. I look more like someone you'd rather avoid."

The neckline flicked back into place like a loose elastic band, and she swallowed back the cough that rose at the impact. The infirmary magic was wonderful, but not miraculous.

"I'd prefer it if you'd stop making dark jokes about almost dying," Rex said.

"Why? Am I making you uncomfortable?" she said, wiggling her fingers in his face until he was forced to slap them away. "It's laugh or cry, friend."

So, she laughed.

And Rex rolled his eyes.

"Tifa," a voice said, soft but with a bit of gruff. "You got a sec?"

It was Cloud, and Aster double took not just because the shock of gold hair was the brightest within a twenty-mile radius, but also because he was, one, behind the bar, two, Tifa didn't appear phased by this advancement in the slightest, and three, he was pulling her towards him by the crook of her elbow. Gentle, but firm, guiding her towards the kitchen in the back. Tifa smiled at Aster, holding up a finger, a 'wait there' gesture, almost, or 'one-moment'.

Tifa had insisted nothing was going on between them.

Aster chewed into her lip to bite back her grin and stole another glance at the pair as they passed through the bar divider. At how Tifa looked up at him and how Cloud's face softened. He spoke quietly. Not so quiet to suggest a secret. Not so loud as to let everyone in. The kind of murmurs and hums that are designed to exist only in the frequencies between the bodies that spoke them. But Cloud was serious. And he was serious as his blue-green eyes with the signature of Mako writ within them snapped to Aster's as though he felt her stare.

She looked away. Yes, Tifa said nothing was going on, and Cloud looked like he was talking about something serious—but the guy always seemed serious. Aster smiled. Maybe she was imagining it. Maybe she was just seeing what she wanted to see.

Rex sighed and rolled the bottom of his bottle against the counter in circles. The vibrations made the bottle sigh right back. "I can't believe pass out is tomorrow. Only seems like yesterday you barrelled into the training room calling Tseng a bully by nature."

"Not my exact words."

"Premise is the same."

She paused for a beat. "A lot has happened."

Rex hummed in agreement, or at least acknowledgement. Silence isn't always the absence of sound. There were people in the bar, glasses chinking and music coming from somewhere—and there was a small television with a grainy picture delivering news on the wall beside them. There was sound. Sometimes silence is a feeling, and it enveloped them both, pulled them underwater.

'A lot happened' left a lot unsaid.

Eventually, Rex surfaced from those muted depths. "Something just doesn't feel right."

Aster looked at him, eyed him, sure they were on the same wavelength, but unsure.

"Gone," he said, without prompt, and clicked his fingers. "Just like that."

So they were.

"I had no idea that who I chose was going to be removed from basic. No idea at all. And I don't know why Tseng said I did. When I think I'm getting to know him, it turns out I'm all wrong. I really have no idea what he's thinking. Ever."

She turned the beads on her bracelet mindlessly. A, S, T.

"I don't think it's over yet."

Rex said nothing.

E. R. 2. 1.

"Is that me being paranoid?"

He hesitated. "I don't think so. If it is, it's justified."

"Gone, just like that," she muttered. Her stare was blank as she pulled a few pints into glasses, body operating autonomously so her brain didn't have to work.

Somehow the man being referred to only as 'he' like he was some kind of reverent figure had turned into not referring to him at all. 'Gone, just like that.' 'A lot has happened.' 'It's not over yet.' Different ways of saying virtually the same thing. Mentioning him without mentioning him. As if he was omnipresent. God-like.

Aster ground her teeth. She slammed down the glass as if she intended to dent the counter, and beer lapped over her fingers. The customer frowned, a gentleman in his late thirties with the lined faced of a man in his early fifties, but she didn't apologise or indeed even look at him before he went. No tips earned there.

"And what was that about the eighth of May?" Rex said. Unknowingly, he interrupted her spiral into rage. "Newberry looked like he was gonna shit himself."

If there was one thing she hated more than Newberry, it was promoting him to God-status. And Rex wasn't doing that, wasn't skirting around like everyone else was seeming to. Wasn't afraid to say it as if the boy was an urban legend that appeared if you said his name too many times too fast in a mirror.

With a heavy, stabling exhale, she wiped the beer off her fingers onto her apron and turned to apologise to the customer—but he was long gone. No skin of her nose.

Her lips twitched into a pout before she replied. "I don't know."

"Then that was a pretty niche bluff, mate."

"No, I found a flyer in his stuff when I was cleaning up for my punishment. There was some kind of address on it—definitely not a topside address," she said. "It was a bluff, but a calculated bluff. The note was hidden somewhere it was never meant to be found. Figured it might strike a chord."

"Thinking like a Turk again?"

Aster's eyes drifted out the window. "Maybe. I don't know." She shrugged. "I don't know anything. But I'm gonna find out."

"Don't tell me you're—"

"I'm gonna go. It's on Wednesday. Some kind of gathering, I think."

"Tseng know?"

Aster scoffed. "As if."

Rex pulled on the hem of his shirt. "You're just gonna rock up in some random neighbourhood in the slums? Actively searching for the man that wrapped his hands around your throat when you were sleeping?"

"It's simple surveillance," she said, with a cocked eyebrow, as though it were as scripted as catching a train from point A to point B. "I'm pretty good at not being seen when I don't want to be. It's part of my training."

Rex looked unconvinced. "Then I'll go with you."

"Could be dangerous. The slums are no playground."

This time Rex outright scrunched up his nose. "Cocky and haughty? No, mate, you have to pick one. Both is gross."

She let out a laugh. "I was kidding. Be a bit hypocritical, don't you think?"

"Little bit."

* * *

Time pressed on. The heavy-duty lamps that baked the slums blacked out and the artificial day turned to artificial night.

It had been an unusually quiet evening for a Saturday. All the tables were full, but the people weren't drinking much. Tifa staked Rex and Cloud behind the bar so she and Aster could rest their aching feet on the barstools, and when Cloud protested, Tifa laughed and exclaimed, "Barret's four-year-old can do it. You'll be fine."

So the girls were snickering and giving instructions when the saloon doors creaked open and slapped back together.

It was Zack, and it must have been strange for him. For a fraction of a second, his hand was scratching his head, and his features were crossed in perplexity. It was a somewhat unlikely band of individuals before him. People who he knew separately. His best friend, the spiky-haired blond was pouring drinks into martini glasses with tiny pink umbrellas—which was out of character enough as it is—behind the bar that belonged to his colleague-come-friend Tifa. And then there was one of the cadets due for pass out tomorrow, definitely breaking curfew, who he apparently had more mutual friends with than he realised, because Surrexit was talking to his favourite ice skater—not that he knew any others—who just so happened to be the girl he was seeing a little bit more than casually.

He blinked once with his eyebrows drawn together, then grinned. "Did the party start without me?"

"Hey, Zack," Tifa said.

"Porcupine," said Cloud.

"Uh. Sir…?" Rex gave an awkward flair of something midway between a salute and a wave and committed to neither.

Aster started snickering at him. "Weirdo."

"Jerk," he said, with much less conviction than she.

But Aster wasn't listening since she'd already got up to greet Zack with a smile that betrayed the life she led. Still. It was genuine.

She hugged his middle, and he ran his fingertips down her neck to move the fabric of her top. "Looking better."

"Are you just saying that to make me feel pretty again?"

"Come on, I wouldn't need to lie about that."

She laughed until he kissed her and her spine tingled. When he pulled away, he looked proud of himself. Maybe it was because he had an audience.

Said audience was not particularly engaged. Tifa had politely averted her gaze while Rex stared into the wood grain. Cloud just looked bored. Let's be real, Aster was not the first girl Cloud had ever seen Zack dating.

"Glad I caught you," said Zack, fitting his hands to the curve of her waist. "Mission's tomorrow morning. Nothin' major, few days, maybe. Four, tops. 'Cause it's off somewhere between Junon and Fort Condor."

"Can't they just send Junon troops?" she asked.

"Well," he said, placing his words more carefully than he needed. "Has to be SOLDIER."

Aster narrowed her eyes faintly and took half a step back. "Wutai."

Zack confirmed her fears, if that's what they were. "Yeah. S'no big deal. I'll take you out somewhere nice when I get back."

And she tried so hard, but she couldn't hold back the grin that spread across her face. "I'll hold you to that," she said.

* * *

The Pass Out Ceremony. May fifth.

The first stage of the process was over.

The training compound within which Aster learnt to fiercely defend and protect herself became something else. Approximately one-hundred and fifty to two-hundred cadets stood in formation. All in uniform—the iconic Shinra infantry attire. The stiff, blue jacket with sleeves that cut off at the elbows and similar combat pants to those worn by cadets. Shoulderguards matched the grade and steel of their helmets, and knee shields, too. Leather gloves, belts and buckles, a holstered baton, and finally, a pale green cowl Aster had come to know well.

And she had been right, the sound of two-hundred rifles being shouldered and drawn and turned within the same half-second was astounding. Like a room full of people clicking their fingers at precisely the same moment. And it was a connection, a thread that ran through each man in the same uniform. This must be what camaraderie feels like, Aster thought.

The training ground was no longer just that. It became consecrated. The deity: Shinra. The giant stone tableau with the Shinra logo etched within it became much more than another of their insignias. It became a symbol of pride.

That was how Aster felt. Proud.

Forget about the Turks, for now. She was a soldier. The uniform smelt a little funny, kind of dry, but right now, it smelt like accomplishment.

The atmosphere vibrated with the tension that ran through every man's body. From the fourth row and over the shoulders and gunmetal grey helmets of countless troops, Aster could not see the owner of the voice that boomed without a microphone. She didn't need to.

"Men!"

"Sir!"

The instant crack of two-hundred united boots smacking into the ground as they stood to attention was deafening. Rewarding.

"I come here to congratulate you all on your pass out into the grand Shinra military. I, head of Public Safety, welcome you."

The voice of the man weaved left and right as he paced before them, and she finally caught a glimpse of a green suit and a salt-and-pepper beard. Bile leapt in her gut. She kept it down. A strong reaction to Heidegger.

"Your three months of mandatory training are complete. From here on, you will enter the School of Infantry and SOLDIER, where for eight weeks you will devise your own personally-tailored training route to best prepare you for the next SOLDIER try out in two months."

Aster spotted through the crowd a whole row of Red Caps at the front, all stood facing them and to attention.

"Those who do not will be moved into the infantry proper, where you will cooperate in missions for Shinra's future. This is the mere beginning. The best is yet to come. Gya ha ha. In the best interest of Shinra!"

"Sir!"

"Congratulations, soldiers. You are all permitted five days leave to visit your families to celebrate. And we expect you back on the eleventh to throw yourselves even harder into your training! Gya ha ha ha!"

Each Red Cap blew his whistle. "Dismissed!"

There was a collective gasp and subsequently overpowering chatter from the recruits. Laughter. Some lobbed their helmets into the air like university graduation. Seemed like a great idea until they hurtled back down to earth and threatened to cave a crater into your skull.

Rex threw his arms around Aster, laughing, cheering. "We've done it. We did it!"

"Mate," she screamed into his ear in her best impression of his accent, clinging to each other, holding each other up in their elation. "We—we can go home!" She chomped into her lip with wide eyes. To go was to betray her own self. What about May eighth?

She pushed it back in her mind.

Whirling around, she saw Archie Sparrow and Lukas Rohrbach, and she grabbed them, both of them, and congratulated them. And they did she. Archie with a broad, young grin, Rohrbach with his more reserved but reaching slap on the shoulder guard.

Then a dark, slender figure appeared through the sea of cadets with black eyes, and her heart sank all over again. Skin pulled back tight by his ponytail of dark hair.

"Congratulations, Aster," said Tseng. "I hate to interrupt your celebrations."

A muscle near his jaw pulsed. His dark eyes shut off, sealed safe doors with forgotten contents. "You cannot go home."

The blow hit her straight to the gut, winding. "What?" she spat, breathless, "but I passed out, didn't I?"

"Yes," he said. "And you've been called forth for the first mission of your force. Consider it an honour."

Her mouth went dry as her mind raced after the stolen opportunity to go home, see her family again, her friends again, allow those emotions back into her life again.

Foolish, Tseng would have never allowed it anyway. It would be a distraction. Stupid for getting her hopes up.

But oh, how it crushed her.

"Wutaian upsurge," he said, snapping her eyes back into focus. "Fort Condor."

Suddenly, her thoughts organised themselves, snapping back into place, into logical sense. Into a place she could perhaps ignore them for now, and deal with them later.

Zack.

Aster nodded. "When do I leave?"

"Now."


	23. Sun on the Moonlighter

**A/N: Okay, so this chapter would've been slightly earlier today if the VII:Remake TGS trailer hadn't just dropped! I DIED when I saw Tseng (because obviously since writing this story I'm all about that Tseng life) I literally smacked my chest so hard it hurt. He looks amazing! (I still imagine his Crisis Core voice though.)**

**Anyway. Must work on coming down from that high. Hey, hey. Back on time for this one. Aster's going on a mission. Love that for her. **

**I'm not even making sense—I literally JUST watched the new trailer. Too much hype. **

**Thanks again for the review **Numinous-Scribe**! Aster and Rex have always given me life, honestly. Our Aster is a troubled duck though, isn't she? Head isn't always correctly screwed on. As for the whole "GOING HOME?!" thing, I feel like it was a 'me too? does that mean me?' thing (that I failed to correctly get across I guess, oops). If she hadn't had this mission, I don't think she would've gone back and packed her stuff like everyone else or whatever, because she'd have had chance to process it. She'd have known. It was an in the moment kind of lapse. Hope. And Tseng seems to live for her despair. Thank you so much again! I literally love hearing people's thoughts and theories, it's so awesome.**

**I hope you're all having a super fantastic week, do enjoy this chapter, and I'll be back next Wednesday with another! (*cough* that I'll have written from the ground up, like most of this one because my drafts were nowhere near as polished as I thought they were *COUGH*)**

11th Sep '19

* * *

**Chapter 23: Sun on the Moonlighter**

Two benches sat opposed in the back of the military truck. Aster and two other infantrymen were ushered in by an officer.

"Your squad leader will be with you shortly," the officer said, then slammed shut the back door.

SOLDIER members signed on for the mission would be distributed amongst the small infantry teams. Aster didn't know whether to hope it was Zack or hope it wasn't.

The canvas hood over the truck bed rattled, and the weather must have turned because the patter of rain beat against it above them. Not an armoured truck. Wouldn't be used to transport them into or out of a battle zone—unless they didn't mind going full of bullet holes.

A slider window separated the bed from the cab where a fourth infantryman sat at the wheel, awaiting instruction. Hands at ten and two.

Aster wanted to drive. Stick and pedals and power at her discretion. But she had minimal off-roading experience. She thought, then, back to Melanie in Icicle Inn. The woman used to launch the old yellow snow-truck deep into ravines even snowboarders and skiers baulked at. She had iron control over the beast as though its tank-like treads were extensions of her own body. Perhaps that was something Aster could look into in the next eight weeks of training, but thoughts of home were still much too raw, especially in the knowledge that her comrades were on their way to visit their own.

The door swung open again. Not Zack.

Again, she didn't whether she felt worse, or better.

It was the pale blue uniform signifying the rank of Third Class that gave it away in less than an instant. That and the SOLDIER helmet that Firsts weren't obligated to wear. It was solid and steeled, with a visor that cut over the eyes towards the tip of the nose. The other end tapered up above the forehead like a crown. Well, it was an honour, after all. The shape was overall reminiscent of a knight's helm. The knights of Shinra.

He sat on the only vacant seat opposite her and closed the door, then reached for a briefing packet stored beneath the bench and pulled out a file. "So, we've got Sokolov, O'Quinn, Ratner, and Doe." He flicked back his visor and addressed the lattermost directly. "Hey, I didn't know you were posted to this mission."

A blond strip of hair stuck flat between his eye and straight nose, pressed down by his helmet. Cloud.

"Neither did I until forty-five minutes ago. So likewise."

The truck rumbled to life.

Cloud nodded and reached to slide open the window into the cab to deliver the driver his instructions. Then, after introducing himself as Strife to the others, he delivered a mini-brief that shed light on the mission as a whole.

"We will travel by ship to Junon and continue via truck towards Fort Condor. A Wutaian encampment has been sighted near the mountains. Our aim is to eliminate them. More details as to the mission plan will be dispensed closer to the time."

Cloud stopped and swallowed. Hardly noticeable. Nothing out of place. It was only because Aster had met him a few times that she even caught it. His voice cracked slightly, and he pushed his finger under his collar as if to alleviate heat in his throat. "There are four teams of five, each lead by a member of SOLDIER. The Commanding Officer of the unit is Zack Fair, and he will lead. After the mission is complete," he said, and he seemed to grow tired, pushing through the words he had to deliver like a slog, and he swallowed again, "the Turks will carry out an intelligence sweep, or whatever. Basically means 'don't incinerate the base'. Probably wanna capture someone. Again, more on that later."

"We go, do what we have to do, then we'll go back to Junon, wait for the Turks, do some minor missions with the Junon force, get back on the boat and get the hell out of there." Cloud was definitely going pale. "With all that waiting around and travelling, it'll probably take three or four days. For now, just rest."

"Sir," the cadets said, except Aster.

She leaned towards him. "Dude, you okay? You're salivating like a hungry dog with a plate of meat in front of it."

He rolled his visor down over his face and pressed it into his hand. "Don't talk about food…"

"You sick?"

"Motion sickness."

Aster grimaced. "Rough. Why not take off your helmet?"

"Don't have that luxury on the field."

"So why not take advantage of it now?"

He appeared to consider this for a moment before he pried it from his head. His spiky hair poked back up a little less bouncy than normal as sweat prickled at his temples. He turned the helmet in his hands a few times. Then he changed his mind and put it back on. "No. It sucks, but you just have to get used to it. Better to always have it on than not. It's a good habit. It could save your life. They're not just there to look good."

Aster flicked her own helmet with a sharp ding. "They don't look good."

He managed half a laugh. "You're right about that. You look just like a man in that uniform."

"Charming."

Cloud seemed like someone who only really spoke when he had something worth saying, so the journey was relatively quiet. The trucks boarded the underbelly of a Shinra cargo ship, and lurching waters and loss of stability must have really flared up Cloud's motion sickness. He got out of the truck, but only long enough to get in the cab with the driver to recline the seat and try to sleep it through.

Aster followed his lead. She got off the bench, freeing it up for the O'Quinn guy she'd been sat by, and laid beneath it, wrapping up her cowl as a makeshift pillow. The military taught a lot of things. The ability to sleep in any position was one of them.

It was called sleep-deprivation, and it wasn't a skill.

* * *

"Understood," said Cloud, bringing a radio down from his mouth and latching it back onto one of the belts around his waist. He shook Aster's shoulder, then another troop. "Wake up. We're thirty minutes out from the target location. We've got our orders."

Consciousness dragged her eyelids open. When she pulled herself up onto her elbows, she bumped her head on the bench above her. A red mark adorned her cheek where she'd leaned on it too long.

At some point, the truck had disembarked the ship and was tearing across grasslands and dusty crags. The suspension was bad, so Aster's elbows took the jolt of every stone. She crawled out and sat on the bench.

"Briefing," Cloud said. "Awake?"

"Half."

"Work on that," he said. His cheeks, or what could be seen of them beneath his helmet, were clammy. But maybe mission prep was enough of a distraction to get him through the sickness he was feeling. "Listen up. We're nearing upon the settlement site. It's small, supposedly, but given that they've sent thirty of us, I'd say it's bigger than small. The mission is simple; destroy the camp and disarm the inhabitants. One or two members of the Crescent Unit are said to be leading there."

"Which is it?" Aster said, body rigid at the edge of the bench. "One or two?"

"Non-specified," he said. "You'll know them by uniform. Black and silver as opposed to green and iron. The Turks wish to capture them before their execution."

"How?"

"Fair and a couple of Seconds are going to head straight for the centre of the encampment. The four remaining teams will circle the camp and drive the Wutaians towards the SOLDIER squad. It's not difficult to come up with a way to pin a man in place alive—gunpoint, shoot-to-wound, get creative."

"Understood."

"We will be heading in from the south-edge, closest to the shore, and closest to the encampment. We will leave the truck west of the camp and travel on foot across the beach and cliffs unnoticed until we receive our signal. There may be anti-SOLDIER units. There may be monsters. There will be troops. But the camp is small—okay, bigger than small. But manageable. As a squad, we'll form a wall to prevent escape. We've got the easy job since the shore is our backstop. Because of that, we're heading in last, to prevent a retreat. We'll be coming up on their backs."

"Unless they turn around," said one of the infantrymen, somewhat darkly.

"Unless they turn around," Cloud affirmed.

"But if they turn around, they'll be panicking. They know there's no real escape, the shore is a dead-end. If they turn around, they'll already be losing," Aster said.

"Exactly. We're pretty much just sweeping stragglers until we meet up with the SOLDIER squad. Got it?"

"Sir," they said.

"Good."

Concise. To the point. No superfluous language. Exactly as Aster had come to expect from Cloud, the man of few words who made few words count.

The trucks veered away from the distinct line of five, each headed to their respective destinations, awaiting their signal. Cloud's squad pulled due south, and the vehicle was abandoned just shy of five miles from the camp.

When Aster threw open the doors, she had been prepared to be blinded by daylight. Instead, it was before dawn.

Her heels sank into the sand. A great cliff edge jutted out of the ground, almost unnatural looking, as though an earthquake had split the earth and raised it high overnight. Apparently, it was several miles long, and the sands beneath it ran alongside it. The cliff would be their cover. They would sneak up unannounced.

The only light given was that of the faint glow on the horizon like a fire burning over the ocean. The water was at its deepest blue, like the sky above it, and so far away from Midgar's smog and light pollution, stars dusted the dark night.

"Time to move," Cloud said, jumping from the truck last. The fresh air brought him immediate relief. He held his shoulders better, back straighter. He drew his sword and headed along the cliff face. Not too close, not too far away. Their only company themselves and the sea worms and beach plugs that had woken early, so there was little chance for him to use the SOLDIER blade in his tight fist. The sword that would have dwarfed Aster, despite only being a few of inches shorter than Cloud—discounting the hair—yet somehow it did not outsize him.

The tide had pulled in the closer and the sun had begun its ascent by the time they reached their target location. The cliff wore down into a crumble and steep embankment from the shore to grassy plains, and though they could not see it, the Wutai base was not three-hundred yards away. To maintain their cover, there was nought to do but stand in the water that now licked their calves, hiding behind what remained of the cliff.

Cloud crouched behind a large, tumbled boulder, knees in wet sand. A transmission crackled in through his radio, quiet, but blisteringly loud if a Wutaian happened to be patrolling nearby.

Aster half-expected to hear Tseng's voice. It was Zack's. She couldn't tell if it was the radio making him sound so different, or something else. "Squad Bravo, Charlie and Delta move in on my signal. Echo stand by and await further instruction."

Bravo, Charlie and Delta squad leaders each responded. Cloud turned down the volume, then pulled the radio to his lips. "Echo, standing by."

"Alright, let's get this show on the road," Zack yelled—and Aster was glad Cloud had adjusted the volume. "Move out!"

Aster's body tensed. Fingers poised on her rifle rigidly, like pulling—squeezing—the trigger would snap her brittle bones. The water that soaked into her boots and the waves that tugged and pushed became a feeling that another version of her was experiencing. A version of her that wasn't listening to the sounds that carried over the early dawn breeze. Panicked barks and the first pops of gunfire, like distant fireworks, innocent, playful. Only they echoed with booms only guns could make. And there is no sound like that of steel against steel, clashing in the cool mist of the morning. Each sound struck Aster's bones sharp until her heart raced and her muscles quivered in a fatal concoction of anticipation and anxiety. Fatal, because it heightened every sense. Fatal for the enemy. And so the water that lapped the backs of her knees went unnoticed.

Until something bumped into her leg.

Aster whirled around, pointing the gun she wasn't allowed to fire yet, and gasped. She kicked the dark shape with a splash, and Cloud snapped to his feet to scold her.

It floated aimlessly. Driftwood. Only it wasn't.

Cloud was at her side, mouth turned down at the edges and ready to deliver her sentence, but he stopped. Instead, all he hissed was, "Careful. The hell is it?"

"A…body," she said.

She waded closer. Thigh-deep. Humanoid in shape, poised like a drowned man, back at the waves, limbs hanging beneath. Must be air still in the lungs.

Tentatively, she poked it with her rifle to turn the dark mass over. Waiting for the beast to lunge for her. She recoiled violently into Cloud's chest.

Nothing.

Its head was still underwater. Must be dead. Aster glanced at Cloud for reassurance, though his face was hidden by his visor and hers by her helmet. She cleared her throat and stepped forward again. Reached her hands around its head and lifted the carcass.

Its skin was like the bark of a tree, dark, knotted, rough. And then she saw its face. She almost screamed and slapped a hand over her mouth, salt stinging her lips. The figure fell quietly back into the water. Eyes, like glass, bulging, glowing blue, reflected the sky above. It had a mouth of human-like teeth, but no lips, no gums. A perpetual scream, captured in a wood-carved face.

And around it, in the dark water, something darker. Like oil or like blood.

Definitely not human.

Aster didn't know if that was a relief or not.

Definitely dead. And that _was_ a relief.

She stared at Cloud and scraped her hands against her uniform, willing to peel off her skin from her palms to remove the texture of that monster from her body. She couldn't speak. Her tongue felt swollen to twice the size.

The radio crackled. "Echo, now!"

Aster swore a train of expletives, casting one last glance at the carcass as she ran off the beach in the puffs of sand raised in Cloud's wake.

He threw her a look over his shoulder. "Push it from your mind—you have to let your training and drill take over."

She nodded, gripping her rifle in wet fingers of sea and sweat.

_What the hell what the hell what the hell what the hell what the hell._

It was a nearby explosion that knocked the plug in. A large stack of wooden crates burst in a cloud of wood chips and smoke as a rocket from an enemy launcher narrowly missed a SOLDIER Second who dove out of the way.

The back half of the camp was almost deserted, as planned. They pushed through. Through caravans and tents and larger temporary structures and dust and trucks. The enemy appeared all at once. To Aster, in both slow-motion and double speed.

Distinctly Wutaian monsters pounced down from building tops and bounded out of huts. They shrieked and howled.

The ground thundered under heavy footsteps and Aster winced, waiting for the appearance of the anti-SOLDIER beast she had come to know and hate. And appear it did, but that wasn't causing the rumbling earth. Cloud's radio blared with Zack's voice about as angry as she'd ever heard it. "SOLDIER Seconds on the Adamantaimai—that's practically cheating!"

Cloud yelled to his soldiers. "Avoid the Adamantaimai when you see it. Tackle the anti-SOLDIER unit at long-range only. If it hits you with that flail, you're as good as dead."

Aster weaved between stacks of barrels and rudimentary supply trucks until the ground cleared into a ramshackle town centre at the foot of the grandest tent. A dwindling bonfire with old charred stones smoked into the air, and Aster was just in time to watch the enormous Vajradhara-variant swat its arm through it, swiping the smouldering branches and boards and stones into the tent beside her.

It became clear it had been aiming for the member of SOLDIER dancing before it. Zack. He was lithe and powerful, and tumbled out of its way, slashing for the gut.

It was a Rakshasa, she knew, with the same coloured skin as the monster that rotted in the ocean behind them. Aster shuddered and forced herself to forget her conversation with Rex. That much was easy because the beast raised its flail. The chain alone was as thick as her leg and the striking end as large as an armchair.

And it turned to her, so she hid behind the tent that was catching alight on the embers of the dying bonfire that had been thrown into it like smoking darts. A Wutai grunt laid in wait.

Aster tackled him to the ground, sprung to her feet, and kicked under his chin as hard as she could. His head cracked back. If it hadn't been attached, it would have been knocked out of the park.

She didn't look back to check if he was dead.

Bullets zipped through the air. Gunfire and screams of agony were sounds not as foreign to her as they once had been. She crouched with her back to a crate and waited for Cloud's signal.

He pointed to his other men and sent them around clockwise. Aster he sent the contrary, towards a large group of enemies facing off with Squad B. The plan was working.

She pressed the butt of her rifle into her shoulder and fired at one grunt's back. Three bullets, two entries. Hit the ground.

She raced forward, blood surging to her face, firing at the back of the dog-like Foulander. It spun to her, salivating, and its steely blue eyes knocked the breath from her lungs.

It lunged for her and she snapped a kick skyward to knock it back. Drill. Training. Procedure. Beats away the shock. She ripped the baton from her side and clouted it into the creature's fangs, crumbling them like brick.

The hound launched to gouge out her intestines with its tusks. Aster's rifle flashed her bared teeth as she fired a stream of bullets into its throat.

"Crescent Unit—get down!" yelled a SOLDIER Second, and Aster threw herself to the ground without knowing if the order was for her. A missile crashed into a tent beside Squad B. A body was thrown up into the air like a rag doll. She prayed it might have been Wutaian.

But the world had turned to chaos, and there was no order to see. Aster whipped her head back and forth across the battlefield, but no line of sight was clear, and she had no eyes on the member of the Crescent Unit that must have been nearby. She scrambled through the dirt to all she could see. Cloud, Zack, and the Rakshasa.

Aster pelted back to the crates she had hidden behind and aimed her rifle over it. Sweat rolled over her temple. She clamped her teeth on her trembling lip. It's not like she'd miss, but if she hit its coppery armour and a bullet ricocheted unfortunately, it could well sink into the body of either of the pair before her.

She swallowed her nerves and watched the monster swing its wrecking ball for Zack. A scream pulled from deep in her gut as she vaulted over the wooden boxes, firing for the largest exposed area of its body.

Zack bent back as the wrecking ball breezed just a whisper above his body, then, with a yell of his own raw in his throat, shot forward and sliced his sword straight through the thick chain, snapping it and sending the boulder flying into one of the supply trucks with an incredible crunch and smashing glass.

The Rakshasa screeched. Cloud darted in, sword firmly in two hands.

Aster distanced herself and socked a troop in the jaw as he aimed for Cloud. He recoiled and swung his halberd, and though she hopped back to mitigate the damage, the blade still sliced through her fatigues at the thigh, and one of her holsters hit the ground. Adrenaline fought the burn. She shot her rifle from the hip, sinking bullets into similar places, then her face hit the floor. A Foulander's gnarled paws slammed against her back.

It stabbed its jagged claws into her shoulder blade, and with a growl, she cracked her elbow deep into its ribs, earning a canine squeal. A SOLDIER Second skewered it through the neck and slung it off.

By Gods, was it a mess.

She gathered herself and gasped as the anti-SOLDIER beast flung its arm into Cloud's stomach, throwing him back into the stack of crates Aster had been hidden behind before. They collapsed into puffs of dirt and splinters.

Cloud struggled to his feet as the Rakshasa neared him. She grabbed the halberd from the fallen troop and launched it like a javelin for the neck of the beast. Barely scratched a few layers of skin—but it was enough of a distraction for Cloud to get back his footing.

"He's casting something!"

Who?

"Watch out!"

It all came too late. Atop of the largest tent, a man in a silver and black uniform—much like the one she'd seen on the important Wutaian man in the slums—and a helmet more ceremonial than practical aimed his gun lance straight for her face.

Zack threw himself into her. The tremendous force of his body colliding with hers knocked her back into the dirt with a sick thud. His weight crushed her ribs. Her head smacked into a rock at a hard angle, and her helmet knocked off and rolled across the ground. The wetness of blood drowned the back of her neck.

No amount of training, procedure or drill can prepare the mind for this.

Zack's chest shuddered against hers. He searched her face for the cornflower blue eyes that he had memorised down to the silvery shimmer they gave when she smiled. His horror turned her stomach. Paralysed, probably for the first time in his life.

Time seemed to stop, but the feeling is deceiving. In reality, only a second passed.

A second is long enough to aim and fire.

"Zack, no!" she yelled in his stricken face, as she watched the elite Wutai soldier shift his aim.

She tumbled their bodies to the right and rolled to a stop beneath him. A bullet bit deep into the ground where their heads had been. She grabbed her rifle and fired it with her arm resting on Zack's shoulder to steady her aim. Shoot for the legs. Wound.

Her bullets only saw the fabric roofing. The Wutaian jumped from the tentpoles on which he had stood and disappeared behind the structure.

Aster and Zack shared a breath, a glance. The recoil of her rifle jolted her elbow, reverberating in his shoulder, his chest, her chest. A violent pulse. She bit her lip so hard the colour drained from it and grabbed her helmet, slammed it back on her head. When she finally let go, blood surged back into her lips.

It was seconds, yes. To Aster, it felt like hours. To Zack, perhaps days.

But he recovered faster.

He snapped to his feet and pulled her up by the arm. One last glance.

And they surged in separate directions. Zack towards the Adamantaimai with an old hardened shell that could hide a small family. Limpets and sediments settled like crust and hid the parts of its shield polished like abalone shells, where under the dirt and grime, the colours of the rainbow, like an oil spill, shone through.

And Aster tore for the anti-SOLDIER monster with lead in her gut. It was a bad decision. She knew that when she made it. It pounded its fists into the ground and surged to life. Cloud's voice travelled with the wind, "Get out of the way," he was saying, yelling.

The earth cracked and groaned, the severity of the tremors racking their bones. The world was already spinning, and now shaking, too. Her rifle was too dangerous. Too close range. Too high a risk of ricochet.

A Wutai soldier stabbed for her, and her body jerked out of the way. She grabbed the gun lance, kicked him off with a boot firm in his chest, and aimed the firing end for the Rakshasa's neck.

The missile connected with a great explosion of billowing white smoke and it screamed. Through the pillows of white, red eyes gleamed like brake lights.

Cloud shot into the smoke, sword pointed. Steel scraped against metal, then bone. As the mist settled, Cloud could be seen hilt deep in the beast's gut, until he sprung up on its knee, dragging his sword up and through its torso. Innards and blood erupted from the wound, plugged only by the monster falling face down on top of them.

Cloud landed neatly beside it.

The battle was clearing, the dust, settling. And in the distance, weaving through tents and crates, a flash of silver, running.

A helicopter circled above them. Somehow, Aster knew it was for her. It would be the Turks.

She pelted after the figure, firing her rifle to his right to force him to turn left, guiding him out of the safety of the tents and huts. He fired back at her over his shoulder, but his halberd rifle was unwieldy, and she was small and quick. The edge of the continent would come sooner than she would give up.

She fired a well-placed bullet that sank into the back of his thigh.

But he didn't scream or fall to the floor. He spun to face her and pressed a handgun to his throat.

SOLDIERs mission rode on elimination. The Turks' mission rode upon the Crescent Unit member's survival—his questioning, his information.

Her boots dragged up the mud as she stopped.

He knew he had her. She'd given it away. She wanted him alive. A truck laid stationary only a fifty-foot sprint away. He threw the spear at her. It stabbed into the grass several inches shy of her feet. A warning. Do not come forward of this mark.

"You won't take me twice," he said gravely. "Shinra scum."

Aster frowned and pushed her luck, stepping in line with the halberd. And the soldier flicked the pistol from his throat to her face, then back to his throat. Second warning.

"What do you mean?" she said.

Three paces between he and she. No aid.

A split second. Time slowed for her. Reactions heightened, her body functioned at physical peak. The Wutaian stretched his arm out to shoot her. Aster grabbed the halberd, slipped it from its muddy sheath, and swung the blade for his wrist. She couldn't kill him. Couldn't let him kill her.

But he was a man of high training. Time slowed for him, too. He yanked back his wrist, the blade missed. Gun pointed high. Aster tackled him into the ground, twisting bodies and limbs. She on his back, knee dug into his spine, hand clawing for his gun-wielding wrist.

Then, bang.

He pulled the trigger under his chin. His body convulsed, then fell limp.

Her options were not to let him die or protect herself.

His options were to kill her or protect the information he held.

Unfortunately, neither could co-exist. Both managed to fail their primary goal. Both succeeded in their secondary.

The mission was a failure.

Well. SOLDIER's mission was a success. The Turks mission ended in failure.

Aster rested her trembling fingers upon his helmet. Detailed with silver and gold finery. Hot. And inside it, shards of bone, blood, brain, and somewhere, a crushed bullet. It stayed on only for the clasp that held it in place under his chin. She didn't move it. Didn't want to see the destruction. Didn't even want to see his face or the gore that would surely be pouring over it as it slipped from under his helmet.

Her knees were stuck. One rooted to the ground, the other connected to his spine.

She couldn't get up, so she fell limply next to him, eyes wide and glassy.

_Drill, procedure and training._

She rolled onto all fours.

_Obviously, she hadn't had enough._

She clutched at her stomach as she brought up its contents, a burning mixture of bile and blood. And when she pulled her hand away, it too was covered in blood from a seeping wound she couldn't remember receiving. As she deserved.

Gunfire died away. The settlement was in pieces. Broken tentpoles held torn fabric that swung in the wind like the surrender that the Wutaians should have given. Crushed pallets and crates. Stones, rocks, empty cartridges and magazines littered the floor as though they all belonged.

A cool breeze finally brought her to her feet. She could just about make out the body of the Rakshasa amidst the wreckage, that dominated the horizon even in death. And she couldn't swear it, but its blood was dark, too dark, thick, like oil, black, perhaps purple…

"Oh, Goddess, what is going on," she whispered, as though someone might be able to answer her.

The helicopter, B1-Alpha, began to settle none too far away. The grass rippled. It smelled fresh, but couldn't blow away the smell of gunpowder, blood and sweat.

Zack drew towards her, from between weeping tents. Slowly, she pulled off her helmet. Not like she'd need it now. And it was damaged. The section that smacked into the rock was covered in blood and rippled beyond repair. Could've been her skull. Her pinned-up hair, once blonde, was wet and red at the base of her neck. She touched it.

The head always bleeds more severely than the wound would suggest. She'd probably get off with a mild concussion. But she didn't suppose that would be enough to let her off the Turks intel sweep mission that would surely follow.

Zack looked at her. As though for the first time.

That hurt. Much more than her head or her leg or the stomach wound that her adrenaline still managed to keep at bay.

"Aster," he said, then shook his head. "Who…what…?"

"I-I promised I'd tell you after—this. I'm sorry. I didn't know I was coming, too."

"What?" He pressed his hand to his face. "Wait. What do you mean you 'didn't know you were coming'? Who are you?"

The helicopter door opened. It was Tseng. "Doe. Chopper. It's not over."

It's never over.

Even though blood surged through her skull, and the helicopter rotors and engine roared, and the winds whistled over the plain, Aster still heard the gasp that ripped through Zack's throat. His face pulled to a sickly pale shade of white.

"Doe...not the," he said, barely, "the Turk selective...?"

"Now," Tseng barked.

"I'm sorry—I'm so sorry, Zack," she said, little more than a whisper.

And he pushed his fingers into his hair, eyes wide, watching her as she ran to Tseng with a faint limp. Watching her as she snapped into a military salute.


	24. Fact of Light

**A/N: Can you believe we're 125,000 words into this story? That's insanity! This story is gonna be like 250,000 words I can see it happening *cough* and the rest *cough* I was going through my notes last night to get some plot threads untangled and I was SWEATING with how many interconnected plot lines I've got going on. I could have written a simple story. Could.**

**MIGHT take next week off because I go back to uni next week (which actually means I'll probably be writing more frequently as opposed to less because I travel so much and sit in the library with nothing to do ****_okay so i could study at uni but why the heck would I do something like that?_****) So I might. Dunno. Check on my profile for updates or smash that follow button and then you won't even have to worry about that first bit.**

**I hope you're having a lovely day wherever you are in the world and I will see you in the next one! Bye guys!**

18th Sep '19

* * *

**Chapter 24: Fact of Light**

"You look troubled," Tseng said, folding his arms and leaning his back against the helicopter door. The Shinra logo gleamed with polish behind his head. A diamond halo.

"Like you care," said Aster, and she meant it to be snarky, belligerent. It came out lifeless. Sharp as a wet leaf.

"Quite right. I don't."

His black eyes pulled across the horizon. Aster could only assume he was following Zack Fair with his gaze as he rounded up the unit and dispersed them back to Junon. Cloud had mentioned that they would be undergoing some small missions in wait for the Turks' return.

Zack would probably be glad to get away from her.

The coward within her preferred it that way.

"Tell me about him."

Aster snapped her head up to meet Tseng's narrowed eyes. Half-lidded, like he was bored.

"S-sir?"

He pointed a long finger.

She followed it, shame on her face, expecting to see Zack still staring. He wasn't. Tseng had indeed watched him off. What Tseng pointed his finger towards was the body of the Crescent Unit soldier. Laying in a crumpled heap, clutching a pistol like a baby bottle.

Tseng strode over and kneeled beside him. "It is unusual to see a Wutaian with a modern weapon. Very out of character. Do you know what the significance of this might be?"

Aster thought to speak but just shook her head.

"Come and take a closer look."

She didn't want to go back over there. She never liked facing the consequences of her actions. It was childish, but also human nature. At least, that was her justification.

Still, her feet planted one in front of the other.

"Inspect the weapon."

Around eight and a half inches long from firing pin to muzzle. Nine-millimetre. Weighed a little more than a bag of sugar. Steel and shine, save for the handgrip and splatters of blood. She swiped the blood across the slide of the gun and it filled the engraved serial code like red ink. SX-93FS. Which she knew. It jolted her memory. Because she had trained with an SX-92F.

"It's a Shinra model," she said.

"Correct. And what's the significance of that?"

She stared at the handgun as though the serial code might rearrange itself into the answer. "I don't know. He stole it? He was in Midgar?"

I won't let you take me twice, he had said. Shinra scum.

"He was probably in Midgar," she said again, surer of herself.

"Perhaps. But Shinra sell their weapons in Junon too. It would not be difficult to imagine the Wutaians stocking up nearby."

"Do you know the answer, Tseng?" she asked.

"He is dead. It is speculation. Though the picture is becoming clearer."

"Classified?" she asked, hoping he'd say yes. Hoping, because if he acted in the unpredictably predictable way he always did, and there was but one thing she could be sure of, her life might return to some strain of normalcy.

The new normal, anyway. Not the normal that was back in Icicle Inn.

"Of course," he said.

It didn't make her feel better.

He peeled off the man's helmet. Aster squeezed her eyes shut as horror gripped her by the shoulders and rattled her until her organs reduced to slush. The wet sound, a squelching sound, and the smell of iron, steam and sulphur.

Cloud made it sound so easy when he said to push things out of mind. Easy. Print the data and store it alphabetically in a filing cabinet. Lock it up. That kind of easy.

But he'd had more training than she.

"It's a shame," Tseng said. Aster didn't watch him place the helmet down, but when she looked back again, he'd simply placed it over his head. Not on it. She suspected that he was unable to fit it back on a skull without shape. "I saw the altercation from aboard the helicopter. Unfortunate. But you are more useful to us alive than he is."

Useful. It was the wrong word to choose.

She snapped with sarcasm in her fangs. "Don't sugarcoat it, Tseng, it's unlike you. If you're trying to say you care about me more than some random Wutai soldier, I'm flattered."

"I merely meant to suggest the outcome was preferred."

"Yeah, well, I don't care. I don't care for your stupid version of kind words."

He didn't bite. Instead, he sighed and pressed the palm of his hand to his forehead. "You are such a brat."

She ground her teeth.

"The outcome is preferred because we have captured the second member of the Crescent Unit," he said, searching the body before him for any form of identification. Nothing. He took the pistol instead. "If both were dead, perhaps I'd speak differently. Especially for how you love to run your mouth."

"Do not forget," he said with a hard scowl before turning away, "that you are as disposable as the toilet paper our enemies wipe their arses with. Your ego is much larger than it warrants, Doe."

She stood up.

"Bring the helmet," he said.

And she knew which one he meant. And it wasn't hers.

* * *

Aster felt like a doorman to an exclusive club, only it was a club no one would have wanted access to. A curse, not a blessing. She couldn't go in. It was an interrogation.

Instead, she stood beyond the door to that largest of tents. Mostly still intact. On closer inspection, the fabrics that hung from its thick, tall tentpoles were tightly woven tapestries. Once spectacular and vivid, no doubt, now faded like the pages of old tomes. Aged. Covered in a fine layer of dust and soot.

Heavy drapes covered the entryway. It was by no means soundproof, but Tseng's voice was muffled beyond comprehension, as though he spoke into a pillow. That was when the Wutaian soldier wasn't screaming. When he was, no note of Tseng's chords could be heard.

He didn't scream constantly. There were moments. Seconds. Where a thud and a sound like crackling would land, then silence would pull deep for a long time.

Aster clung to the helmet. More ceremonial than functional. She held it away from her body, waiting for someone to take it from her hands. It wasn't dripping with blood anymore. The ground around her feet had swallowed that up in the past thirty minutes. She couldn't work out, staring at it, why it vibrated in her hands.

Of course, it was her hands that were the very problem.

Polished, brushed steel. A black visor that stretched over the eyes with a golden lining. A crescent horn-shaped detailing rose from the forehead, and from it, a pointed diamond in gold. Ornamental. As though it could be worn to a state dinner as easily as it could a battlefield. Easier, perhaps, since it clearly did its owner no good in the latter.

And a small lump, maybe the size of a grape at the crown. She didn't turn it over to check the damage to the inside.

Looking at it once more, she couldn't help but feel that the gold detailing was bespoke. That this was their form of identification. So she looked away, to distance herself from her victim.

The settlement was holding itself up by leaning against itself. Like how a big gust of wind might blow over a bundle of sticks. They might fall into one another, hold each other up. The rest collapse into the ground. That was how the camp stood. That which fell into something sturdier stayed upright for another day.

Stacks of crates still remained. A lot of them broken and empty, but a few remained whole. She could waste her energy wondering what they had been storing and why, but the screaming resumed.

The vertebrae in Aster's neck ground against each other in her tension. The screaming, wet in the throat and from the chest, died into laughter. Hellish, deranged, out of place, like laughing at a funeral.

His voice carried a thick accent, mania. "You won't kill me. You need me alive."

"Is that so?" Tseng's voice drew nearer, words became clearer. "Perhaps you ought to reconsider your value. Because at the moment, you are worth nothing."

The curtained door pulled aside in Tseng's fist. "Doe. In here."

The curtain brushed against the stones as it fell behind her. The tent was not grand. The floor was covered in a woven straw rug, but the straw was poor quality, as though taken from a haystack for fodder, not furniture, and it was weak. Ragged would be incorrect because that would suggest used. Rather the holes in it were of poor craftsmanship, or that it was created in a hurry. A few square duvets were spread on the floor with pillows. Nothing seemed permanent about this camp.

Tseng led her through another curtain door and another. He said, "Provide us with a reason to keep you alive before we eliminate you like the rest."

Behind the curtain, a vaguely charcoal-like smell barrelled past and Aster stepped through it with the helmet behind her back. Reno stood to the left with his tinted goggles over his eyes. His stun rod flickered.

The member of the Crescent Unit was smirking, panting, tied and slumped against a tentpole. Blood slipped over his lip. Atop of his helmet, adorned in gold, not a diamond shape, but a cross.

"Show him," Tseng said.

Aster thrust the bloodied helmet in front of her chest.

His smirk fell. His cheeks sagged. He writhed against the ropes at his wrists. The pole rattled and creaked as he struggled to his feet and the tapestries swayed. The truth as he understood it had been overturned; there was no safety in his rank when his equal had been dispatched so mercilessly. Shinra did not need them as alive as they might have believed.

"N-no."

"Let's try this again, shall we?" Reno said. The words rolled from his tongue like syrup. A treat.

"Be of use, or we will simply remove you as we have your colleague." said Tseng. "So. Can you confirm?"

"Okay—stop, please! W-we have no connection with the group in the slums. I don't have any information to give you, I swear," the soldier said, pulling against the tentpole. "We lost contact with them over two weeks ago."

"Mm. That is disappointing."

Bang.

The soldier's head flung back and smacked into the tentpole with a crunch. He slumped forward at the waist as blood dripped from his face into the straw and mud beneath him until the weight of his body dragged down the ropes on his wrists around the tentpole that held him up.

"And a lie," Reno said, pulling the long and thin ponytail at the back of his head smooth and throwing it behind his shoulder.

"Not so much a lie," said Tseng. He threw the pistol next to the body with a clatter. "An attempt at contact was made. And it failed. Because we intercepted it. A foolish error. An incredibly costly one, for them."

Then Tseng and Reno turned to Aster. Her lips were folded into her mouth, eyebrows pushed together and eyes wide. Still, she held the helmet in front of her.

"If you are going to cry—"

Her eyelashes fluttered a few times, out of time with each other like she chewed something bitter. "I-I'm not."

"Good," the Turk leader said. "We will search the area before we ensure no one will ever return to it."

"Doubt we'll find anything in a beaten up wreck like this," Reno said. He peeled off his goggles and pushed them into his hairline, then holstered his stun rod and locked his fingers together behind his head.

"How," Aster said, and her voice came out as a rasp. "How are you so relaxed?"

Reno considered her with a cool blue eye. "This is how the game is played. He knew that," he said, nodding towards the body. The straw matted with his blood.

"Reno," Tseng said, "Find Rude. Commence the routine search."

The redhead shrugged and sauntered out. "You got it, yo."

Tseng looked at Aster. He pulled the helmet out of her hands and dropped it near the pistol. "It gets easier," he said.

She couldn't imagine it.

* * *

Tseng had encouraged Aster to eat an MRE, a military ration that was ready to eat in a self-contained parcel, because the intelligence sweep took over a day. They slept on the camp.

But she couldn't keep down the mouthfuls she took. Gave the rest to Reno. For some reason, he was happy to eat it. It tasted like the prison loaf she'd been given, way back when.

It was a problem when that became a comforting memory.

The search was as fruitless as Reno anticipated. Aster pulled a rag off the supply truck that was destroyed by the anti-SOLDIER monster's flail—or what of it that wasn't crushed.

More crates. Most of them had been empty. Tseng suspected that they stole them from one of the cargo ships in Junon. The ones that were still sealed by industrial staples that needed prying apart were mostly full of ammunition or other sharp paraphernalia, as well as the tools and parts they used to set up this camp. Fabric, tinned food. Definitely stolen. Junon was not far away.

The crates and barrels on the back of the truck were crushed and spilling. The way they had been ordered, before the crash, suggested these had been packaged up decidedly.

They were not factory sealed. They were not organised by product. They were mixed bags, as though they had chosen what they needed and packed up. As though they were packing up to leave.

"Tseng."

He approached her.

"What do you make of this?"

He looked at the contents of the truck bed and came to much the same conclusion as she. "It appears they did not intend to stay."

"These are their possessions," she said, pulling the lid off the box nearest to her. The sides crumbled, and out fell Wutaian grunt uniforms in green and orange. "Were they heading to Midgar? Or Wutai?"

"It's difficult to say."

"Nothin' here, boss," said a deep voice. Rude approached besides Reno.

The latter chimed in, "Hey, just like I told you."

"Alright. Prepare the airstrike."

"Oh yeah," Reno said. "Explosions at sunset. This is gonna be beautiful."

In some kind of dark, destructive way, it was. Aster pressed the noise-cancelling headset into her ears until they hurt as she watched the aftermath of Shinra's missiles erupting into giant clouds of smoke and balling flames, and how one explosion gave way to another, and the exploding petrol tanks in the few trucks scattered around sounded like tiny pops in comparison to the grand impacts of the chopper's artillery.

Reno cheered. Even Rude was chuckling over the headset.

But Tseng and Aster were more subdued sat opposite one another in the cabin, sharing a window barely larger than their heads. The light of the flames and blasts lit their faces like the flash of a camera capturing their expressions. One solemn. One disturbed.

* * *

Aster only had enough time to shower and change her uniform before she had to board the ship. Less than four days, she'd had that uniform. Already issued a new one.

She had been staring at her gloved hands for twenty minutes. Those and her boots were the only parts of the uniform she hadn't needed to replace. The underbelly of the ship creaked and rocked, and although the sound of laughter and chatter echoed all around the high ceiling, it did not penetrate the bubble in which she sat.

Her head was tucked near her knees, back against a storage box whose shadow she resided in. The same kind of crate she'd been rummaging in for the past day. Maybe the Wutaians really had been stealing from Junon.

Infantrymen and SOLDIER members also sat on and around the cargo. Others sat on the bonnets and roofs of their trucks. Beer slopped over their overzealous fingers out of plastic cups as they shouted to one another over the rumbling of the ship.

Apparently, drinking on the Junon cargo ships was a tradition for Shinra soldiers returning from missions. Aster didn't partake. Neither did Cloud—he was passed out in the back of one of the trucks with a sick bucket. And neither did Zack.

No one had seen him for a while.

She knocked her head back into the crate and let her hands fall to her sides, unsure which wound to lick first.

The Wutaian officers. That one was over now, after all. Game, set and match. Men prepared to die for their country. How a hot metal helmet searing her palm, scorching her bones, had been more powerful and frightening than holding a gun to the second CU soldier's face. Whatever Wutai was up to—and Rex's voice in her mind was telling her not to jump to conclusions, but still—it wasn't good.

Willing to die for that belief.

And she was surrounded by men just the same. A SOLDIER Second ahead of her jumped to his feet on the hood of one of the trucks, carrot orange hair and fists clenched, grinning like the world was his. Whatever he was getting worked up over made the others laugh. He was maybe twenty-four years old. Hell, the world probably was his, gripped tight in his fists. He made that decision, too, like the Wutaians. As had Cloud; as had Zack. The decision to die if fate made it so.

Somewhere along the line, that choice had been made for Aster. But not by her. And whose ideals was she fighting for? Shinra's? Tseng's? Her own?

No answers.

So she addressed the more immediate problem. Immediate in that she was to spend the next five hours on this ship and so it became her priority.

The stairs up to the deck were rusty and clanged under every step. It was never going to be a quiet escape. She simply pretended not to notice the few eyes of SOLDIER members and infantrymen watching her go from below.

It took more bravery with each step, and each grew weaker than the last. By the time she reached the sea breeze, it threatened to knock her all the way down again.

It didn't take her long to find him.

Zack stood gripping the cold frame of the ship with rigid fingers, elbows locked in place; he'd been there for a while. He stared out into the horizon, over each wave licked golden by the setting sun and touch of dusk. The wind flowed through his hair lazily, blowing a lock against his nose over and over. Gently tapping him for response. He gave none.

The steel cap at the toe and heel of her boots clanked against the tread plate deck. Even on soft feet, each step sounded like a cup being placed on a saucer. He didn't turn around. The inside of her lip was bitten as raw as her nerves. Bad habit. A destructive one.

She placed her hand next to his and turned to him. The dying red sun kissed his face goodnight how Aster wished to. The direct light paled his blue eyes and pulled out the Mako glow.

He didn't look at her.

So she peeled off her gloves, revealing split, bruised knuckles, and threw them to the floor with a faint slap. Her hands trembled, but she carried on. She unclipped the buckles near her shoulders and let the guards and belts fall around her feet. The infantry cowl was next, then the jacket, until she stood in her combat pants, a white camisole undershirt, and her skin.

Finally, she pulled off her helmet and dropped it silently into the embrace of her jacket. Zack turned to her as she pulled the pin from her hair. It tumbled around her shoulders to drift around the bottom of her ribs.

She stared at his boots for just a moment before meeting his eyes.

"I am Aster Doe," she said.

It fell heavy in the wind. It did not soar.

"I—"A shiver ran across her body. She couldn't tell whether it arose from the whisper of cold that blew over her bare shoulders or ran through her by the blade of Zack's anguished stare. "I was abducted from my hometown three months ago and brought to Midgar for the military. I'm sorry. You didn't deserve to find out this way."

He pushed his elbows into the fence and his face into his hands. "You're the Turk Selective."

"Yes," she said quietly. "I'm the Turk Selective."

She gestured towards her scattered uniform. "This is a part of me. I wasn't ready to accept that."

Zack dragged his cheeks down with his hands, then pushed his index fingers against his lips and nose. Like a prayer spoken between his skin and gloves. "Why didn't you tell me? Why did you lie about it?"

"I—I didn't lie, I just didn't—"

"Didn't tell the whole truth." His body stood as stock as his words. Still, hard. "Now's not the time to debate over the dictionary definition of a lie, Aster. Deceit is deceit."

She froze. "You're right."

The barrier was cold and wet against her fingers. The flames that burned on the horizon at dawn returned to char in the night. Without the harsh light of the sun, easier came the truth.

Pride is something that can be sacrificed.

So, she swallowed hard and sent it to the Gods and Goddess for slaughter. "In the beginning, I was trying to forget. I thought that I could separate myself, somehow. That…the person in the uniform and the person in the bar were two different people."

Aster glanced at the infantry helmet sat on the deck, watching her with three beady eyes. She looked away. "I felt normal around you. My stomach didn't churn, it fluttered. I looked forward to seeing you—I still do. I want to spend every free minute with you. I really started to like you."

She choked on her swelling voice.

"That's when I got stuck," she said. "Because I was ashamed of myself."

Her back hunched as she pressed her forehead to her arms against the barrier. "I am ashamed of myself. What I am and what I do. I hardly even feel like a human. I make it through day to day by charging through everything and…everyone…that I see. I didn't want you to be disgusted by me."

Finally, she said, "I didn't want you to see me how I see myself."

Zack said nothing until he stared down the face of the ship to the waves that knocked into the walls far below, lifting spray and foam.

"I would've checked your records eventually," he said, voice clear but distant, perhaps in the depths of the ocean where he gazed into the water. In many ways, she had expected more from him. Anger. Disappointment. Not this emptiness. "I would have found out Doe's first name. I would have seen her face on her ID one day."

"I promised," she said. "I was going to tell you when you returned from this mission."

"I wish you'd told me sooner."

"I know."

"Maybe I could have done something. Changed something."

Aster straightened her back and turned to him. "What do you mean?"

"You're a Selective." He ran his hands into his hair and spoke as though he were delivering a terminal diagnosis.

Because it was.

Aster gripped his bicep, and he finally met her imploring gaze. "Zack, please tell me. What the hell even is a Selective? You said back at the inauguration ball that I'm in for a grim fate. What did you mean?"

He held her shoulders, thumbs grazing the straps of her camisole over her collarbones. The leather covering his palms was cold, and she shuddered.

"Has Tseng given you your task yet?"

She shook her head, hair swaying limply around her. "I have to pass a test first."

Zack shook his head in return with twice her distress. "No, the test is the task. That's what Selectives are by design. They're specialists. If they survive, they become Turks."

If.

"I-I don't know everything," he said, words spilling out but filtering through a sieve before they poured over her. An audible war between blurting out everything he knew and holding something back. "Nothing that the Turks do is disclosed to SOLDIER, but… Selectives are hired individually to do something, fix something. They're not common. They were pretty much myths until you came around. No one really knew if they existed. I knew weird shit was going on, but I guess I didn't really care—that's on me. But now I definitely care, because it's you, and—"

Zack's fingers dug into her shoulders. He was shaking his head, but not with conviction. More like a tremor. Like he saw a hallucination of something horrifying that he couldn't shake from his vision.

"It didn't make sense. I knew it didn't make sense, but I didn't do anything. A member of the Turks, candidate or Selective, has never been trained this way, half in, half out. A Turk has never been in BCT with the infantry soldiers before; they always go through the Military Academy instead. Always a great big secret, but they've shouted you from the rooftops. Something is wrong. Something is horribly wrong."

"Zack, please," she said, rubbing his side in the hope of gaining a response. "I don't understand what you're trying to say. What is it?"

"There were three Selectives in the past two years, before you," he said. "They're all dead."

"What?" she said, or tried to say, but her mouth was dry as cinnamon and sand. "Wh—how did they die?"

"They failed their tasks. I only know as much as I do because of my—" Zack stopped. "An old friend's fiancée. A nurse. And a mission—it doesn't really matter."

Somehow his eyes dug deeper than his fingers. "A Turk has never made it through selection. Ever, as far as anyone knows. Only candidacy."

A ghost shuddered from her gaping mouth.

So I really am going to die?

That's what she wanted to say. But she didn't want to be so weak.

Tseng's threats had always seemed so baseless. That man should never be underestimated.

_If you survive. _

_If you pass your test._

_If you fail, your brother will be next._

She should have seen this coming.

Zack said, "Selectives are the ultimate disposable agent, trained specifically, but if they die, who cares? At least they didn't waste a real Turk, right?" He dropped his hands to clutch her hips. "But they're doing something else with you, treating you so different to any Turk candidate or Selective ever before."

Zack pulled his hands away, but she snatched them back in hers. Without them, she would collapse. She would fall through the deck, through the bottom, and down to the seabed with anchors chained to her feet. Even when drowning, it would be easier to breathe than now.

But she squeezed his hands and forced herself to come to courage.

"When I cross that bridge, Zack, I will burn it."

He set his jaw and pressed his forehead to hers. "Everything the Turks do is a state secret. I don't even know where the Turks Floor in the Shinra Building is—no one does. You can only access it with a special keycard. Something isn't right. But if I can find out anything, Aster, I will. I swear it. You're not gonna die. I won't let you."

She nodded faintly against him, even though all she wanted to do was run.


	25. A Secret I'd Quite Like to Keep

**A/N: LMAO I said I'd take a week off because I was starting uni again and took off FIVE MONTHS. YOU GUYS. SORRY. I'm. laughing. You're probably not. Sorry about that. **

**Short fic update: I've now got like ten chapters ready for publishing but again, uni hit me like a freight train so what I'm gonna do is update maybe once every two weeks instead of once a week? Still Wednesdays, of course. That's our thing now, me and you. Right? Me and you! Yeah, you!**

**ALSO, Legacy is a year old tomorrow? What?**

**Short life update: I still write loads, I still hate my degree, I think I love FF7 even more than I ever have in my LIFE, and I started live streaming (again)—my twitch handle is NOT the same as my fanfiction one, however, so if people want it maybe DM me or post a comment or something and I'll send it to you OR maybe I'll eventually shot that shit into my bio (we play a crap load of FF over there and we have a LOT of fun because guys—I wish I was like Aster but in reality, I'm totally a Rex).**

**AS ALWAYS, I hope you're having a fantastic week, month, year, and I will be back with another upload in a couple of weeks time! A Wednesday, of course!**

26th Feb '20

* * *

**Chapter 25: A Secret I'd Quite Like to Keep**

The debrief was contained to a large boardroom on the forty-eighth floor of Shinra Headquarters. Like a formal dinner, the seven members of SOLDIER involved in the mission, plus Rude in Tseng's stead, lined the table. At the head sat Lazard Deusericus, a man whom Aster had brushed acquaintance with on scant occasion. He was the Director of SOLDIER, and his elbows were pressed against the surface, gloved knuckles at his chin. Aster always thought that gloves that weren't for combat or cold weather were a sign of a man hiding his intentions. That could have been the case, but on Lazard it seemed in a strange, unexplainable way that it was a respectful gesture, like the curator of an exhibition of ancient tomes wearing them so as to not damage her artefacts.

The infantrymen lined the edges of the room with their right fists tucked into their left palms behind their backs. Rifles cleaned, unloaded, and hanging slack near their hips at the end of their canvas straps. They stood like statues, suits of armour there solely to mark the walls of a corridor in a medieval castle. Purely aesthetic editions to the meeting. Part of pomp and ceremony. Not one of them opened their mouths, because each of them knew their place.

Rude was there specifically so that Tseng did not need to be. This was a SOLDIER debriefing. Tseng would be needed elsewhere. His presence was much as that of the infantry: maintenance of appearances. Procedure and policy.

So, Zack did most of the talking. A consummate professional, with less formality than that Aster would expect to be delivered from say, Angeal or Genesis. He delivered his report to Lazard who peppered it with questions full of military buzzwords and phrases like 'operational security', 'kinetic activity' and 'execution analysis'. Phrases which loosely translated in plain language to 'what went wrong', 'how much blood was lost' and 'who can be blamed for the errors'.

"Finally, sir, performance was at a peak. The guys did great," Zack said after a decent thirty minutes, bringing his hand down onto Cloud's shoulder sat at his side as he did. "I was pretty damn impressed by our SOLDIER squad leaders' responsiveness to orders and ability to adapt quickly to contribute to the success of the mission. Camaraderie is so important and it brings instant trust. I knew you all had my back out there and we seriously worked like a well-oiled machine. Makes me proud call myself leader of the unit. Proud to wear this," he said, pulling at the SOLDIER insignia branded into the leather belt over his abdomen.

Backs straightened and postures rose. Tiny movements individually, but when performed simultaneously by a roomful of people the effect is greater, the same as the rise of a single follicle versus every hair on an arm. This was the effect Zack had on the men he led. It was nothing short of a superpower, that perhaps even he didn't know he possessed.

With a nod, Lazard sat back in his chair. "Well said. If that is everything, we may conclude the debrief. Congratulations all on a successful mission."

Though Zack smiled, his eyes were blank. There was something deliberate about where he looked, and more importantly, where he didn't.

He escorted Aster back to the barracks accompanied only by the sound of the world around them. The barracks were silent. It felt strange when they were empty, and it was clear by the state of the atmosphere that they had been empty for several days. It was like walking into a school during the evening. Vacant, soulless. Stale.

The door slid shut with the same mechanical whirr but the sigh was different. The wind didn't move when the door closed—it never did. But it felt unnaturally still. As though even the motes of dust that hung in the light were frozen.

The beds were uniform and there were no personal effects left on show. The chalkboard still loomed near the door to the showers, and the stick of chalk was out of place from where the DI had smacked it down, because someone had used it to draw something vaguely phallic. Presumably in the elation that followed pass out. The room was as it was left, of course. But it wasn't. Slightly off.

The boots were gone.

In fact, Newberry's whole station had been erased of any trace he had ever been there. Like he never existed. He only remained in the imprint he left on her neck—but even that was fading to a sickly yellow-green—and in her memories of him. Aster perpetuated him.

But where were those boots?

One day, would they be reissued to another cadet? Would anyone ever find that small slip of paper and read its dire message? Or was she the last to lay eyes upon it? The last ever to receive its warning.

_The end is in sight. _

She sighed, put her helmet down on her bedside table and slapped her gloves on top of it.

"You got the worst spot in the room, huh? No one wants the cot by the door," Zack said over-casually. Trying to hide that he was placing his words the way he would place the final Ace on a tower of cards. The only purpose was to fill the silence, but empty words can't fill a void.

If Aster was that tower, she toppled at the sound of his voice. "Uh—yeah. But I don't mind. I can stay out of the way."

Zack ran his hand to the back of his head. He was staring at the chalkboard.

"Five or six weeks ago, I pulled the Turk selective off one of the other recruits. She was screaming at him. He pulled back to smack her one right in the teeth. That was you."

All the less than savoury things she did, he knew. And if he didn't, he'd find out. Aster swallowed as her spine sought to shrink away from her skin and her stomach hollowed. She didn't say anything, because he didn't need an answer. It wasn't a question, and he was speaking more to the empty room than he was to her.

"I guess a lot of stuff makes sense, now." His eyes flicked to the cowl around her neck, then to her eyes. For a moment he dragged his teeth over his lip. "Was it him?"

Newberry, Jack, struck through with chalk. She touched her fingers to her neck.

"Yeah."

Zack returned to muttering, staring back into the chalkboard. "I guess that's why you were so certain he wouldn't attack you again. You knew he wasn't going to make it another night. You sent him off."

Actually, no, but she didn't correct him. All she knew was that he wasn't stupid enough as to try again that very next night—and she didn't even know that for sure. It was just a feeling. A hunch. And it happened to pay off.

"I didn't know a lot about him," Zack went on. "I knew that the drill instructors were reporting issues to Angeal, and he used to mention them to me sometimes. A couple of cadets that couldn't see eye-to-eye. It's not uncommon, happens in almost every squad for at least a time. But this…"

He trailed off because there were no words.

"What about those stitches?" he asked. "Was that him?"

Aster unfurled her fingers. So many healing treatments had been undergone since that incident that the injury that might have taken ten weeks to heal with Icicle Inn's traditional methods took less than three in Midgar. It hadn't scarred, although there was a faint pink cross no bigger than an asterisk on a keyboard where one of the stitches had healed slower than the rest. Even that would likely be gone in under week.

"I got cocky and he punished me for it," she said.

Except that wasn't what she believed at all. She shook her head and turned to Zack to correct herself. "Well. No. I was standing up for myself. He took all my stuff, threw it around, tore up my uniform. Then he stole my switchblade—it was a present from my little brother and it means a lot to me. Said I'd only get it back if I didn't flinch in stabscotch."

"You played his game?"

"I won his game."

Her hubris made him smile, but it slipped.

"What about the bloody nose?" he asked. "You remember when I came to Tifa's and you were there?"

Aster frowned. Of course, she couldn't forget how Zack stole her breath and mind so wholly, and how she hadn't felt the same since, but why had her nose been bleeding?

"Oh," she said, remembering. "No, that was from a pistol recoil in training. That was a mistake."

The words fell heavy and silence resumed. It was an unwelcome reminder of her position.

"I guess it all makes sense now. Why you freaked out when you saw Tseng at the ball. Why you were so desperate to help defend HQ during the raid. Why you were so competent." He hesitated. "Does that mean all that stuff about the monster exterminating team in Icicle Inn was a lie to justify why you were so…non-civilian?"

She shook her head. "N-no. That was the truth. Everything was true, I just left out the…this bit," she said, waving her hands towards the room and letting them fall to her sides again. "I was an ice skater and monster-hunter. Those two skillsets have helped me here."

Zack nodded slowly. Rewriting his assumptions about her, she presumed. Replacing fiction with fact and building up a clearer, more accurate picture of who she was. It was her fault, there was no denial there. She rattled his trust.

She didn't go into further detail about her issues with Newberry, though. Not with intent to hide, or for lack of trust, just that, as her dad would grimly remind her on the daily: there's no point beating a dead chocobo. Mentioning their daily arguments and blows or the day he knocked her unconscious in the shower room would serve nothing and no one but discomfort for both of them.

Discomfort was already in abundance.

Zack glanced back to the chalkboard. "Third," he said, quietly, almost absently. "You must be doing really well."

"Fourth."

"Don't be modest."

Aster folded her arms and scowled sidelong at nothing in particular, anything that wouldn't combust from the bitterness in her stare.

"That's definitely not what this is," she said.

She dropped to sit on her cot and her leg gave way with a sharp twinge in her thigh. She sucked a hiss over her teeth and clutched the muscle she must have pulled pretty badly during the mission.

"Didn't you injure your leg?" Zack asked. "Slash wound?"

"Yeah, other leg, though," she said, pulling the ankle of her combat pants out of her boot and ravelled the fabric up to her thigh. Superficially it was relatively unscathed. A deep, black and purple bruise on her knee had formed in a perfect line and corner from where the edge of her kneepad had dug into her flesh following a fall, and a surface graze scratched across the side of her thigh, but otherwise it looked as though this leg had not been through a war zone.

Zack sat beside her and pushed his palm against the muscle from above her knee and up to the rolled up fabric. The pressure ached with relief.

"That hurt too much?"

"No, it feels good."

He lifted her leg over his knee and increased the pressure of his hand, pushing upwards until his fingertips slid beneath her pant leg and back. It made her squirm. She didn't know if it was the pain, the relief, or something else. But he always had his gloves on. She wanted him to touch her without them. She watched him.

"You know, you can go to a therapist by the infantry gym while you're on duty if the pain doesn't lift," he said, with a flat, unsteady voice, like he was uncomfortable with it. "You can go anytime. It's usually quiet around brunch, when most people are training. You just hafta ask your instructor to excuse you."

He didn't look at her and she wasn't listening to him. She could hardly see the colour of his eyes through his lashes. Straight nose. Thicker lower lip.

"You seem to really be feeling it. You'd probably feel a lot better afterwards."

Aster leaned forward and blurted out, "Can we go out again? Maybe sometime this week?"

He looked up from her leg and his hand stopped moving.

"I wanna keep seeing you," she said. "I wanna see you more."

He didn't say anything for a moment and her ribs tightened into a vice around her heart.

"I—I understand if you don't want that. I won't be—" Hurt would be the wrong word. She'd be hurt whether she wanted to accept that or not. "Offended," she chose.

"It's not that," he said, "Aster, I'm not supposed to date you. Fraternisation, they call it. You're under my direct command. They strip ranks for that kinda stuff."

She felt her pulse in her throat. "Really?"

"Yeah, sometimes," Zack said, and his hand loosened against her thigh, releasing the deliberate pressure over her muscle. Now it rested like it lived there, like it was the only natural place for it to be. "If not demotion then punishment."

"Man," he said, rubbing his face with his free hand. "Wonder what Angeal's gonna think."

"Um, Angeal already knows."

"What?"

"He recognised me on the day of the raid. He told me that if I didn't tell you, he'd tell you himself, in fewer words."

"Huh." Zack scratched his head. "But Angeal loves the rulebook."

"Tseng also knows. There's not a lot I can hide from that man."

At this, Zack's spine tensed. She could feel it in the flexion of his fingers. "What did he have to say?"

"Told me it would be better if I had no connections. For my own sake. That if I became a Turk, I could have to hurt you some day." She slipped her leg off his knee and stared at his hand. The thick black leather was soft through wear, but that one layer was one layer too much for her. "He didn't say anything else. I don't think he cared. As long as I do what he says, he doesn't care about anything else."

"Does anyone else know?" he asked. Weighing up the damages.

Aster shook her head. "Except our friends. Tifa, Cloud. Surrexit."

Zack nodded slowly and his eyes drifted someplace far away.

She placed her hand over his and wrapped her other one gingerly into the crook of his elbow, forefinger grazing the swell of muscle beneath his skin. "You won't get demoted. I'll tell them I deceived you, or, you know…they never have to know it ever happened. We can just leave it to rest."

"What?" He turned to her, gaze ripping from the edge of the room. "No, I'm not breaking things off with you. I wanna keep seeing you. We can be discreet. If there's no military upheaval, they won't care. People meet and even get married in the military all the time—it's only when it's 'inappropriate' that it becomes punishable."

Like a commander dating a grunt kind of inappropriate, no doubt.

She blew a soft laugh through her nose. "You, discreet?"

"Yeah. Chill. Not conspicuous."

"Zack Fair? Not conspicuous?"

It felt good to see him smile again.

"That's right," he said.

Aster's hardened face wasn't so ready to crack. "That sounds like you'd be taking a risk for me."

"Then don't look at it like that," he said. If he was putting on a brave face, he was extremely convincing. "I'm taking a risk for me. I'm being selfish. I'm not risking punishment so that you can be with me. I'm risking punishment so i can be with you. It's a personal choice. It's not on you."

Then, he shrugged. "'Sides. They won't punish me."

"'Cause they won't catch you?"

"Nah, 'cause they need me," he said, as though it were God-scribed law of the land. "Being First comes with privileges. I get more than just a bigger apartment."

Yes, he got respect. A certain level of leniency on his leash. Because he could do the work of ten Seconds singlehandedly. Because he had done. Because he did every day.

He sobered from his spike of confidence. "And they probably need you, too."

"Actually," she said with a slight snort, "Tseng has made it his life mission to ensure that I don't come to that misguided conclusion."

"'Course he has. He has to keep the balance of power in his favour."

"Maybe," she said, eyes drifting away. If she was as expendable to Tseng as Zack had suggested, she couldn't see any power within her grasp.

He touched her cheek to bring her back. "It must be hard to be here when it wasn't your choice."

"I try not to think about it. Fear as an entity is tireless and crippling, so I can't stop or it'll catch up with me. Sometimes I wish I was back in Icicle Inn, protecting the townspeople from the monster problems but then if I do make it and become a member of the Turks for real, I can devote myself to solving that issue. I'm getting training that I could have only dreamed of back home."

He brushed his thumb across her cheekbone. "Where did you get this drive from?"

Blackmail, she wanted to say. Whether the threat was placed over her brother's freedom or her own life, choice had been removed from the equation. It wasn't drive. It was a reaction. Fight, or freeze. Try, even when there's no hope left.

Aster looked at his vibrant blue eyes as they flicked from hers to her lips and back. He leaned into her, and as his upper lip brushed hers, she pressed her hands to his chest to push him away. His heart stopped against her fingers.

"Zack," she said, barely more than moving her burning lips. "Are you sure you're okay with…everything?"

"No." He pulled back. "I'm not. I don't really know what I feel. Or think. It'd be one thing to find out you're infantry, but another entirely to find out you're the Selective. What bothers me most is why. What the hell do the Turks want from you? Yeah, that really friggin' bothers me. Tseng's a shifty bastard and I don't trust him."

Aster clamped on her tongue to bite back the urge to defend him, largely because she didn't know where the compulsion came from. Her chest blew hot and it rose to her cheeks. "I thought for sure the whole idea would repulse you."

"It does," he said flatly, but honestly, then added a smile. "But you don't repulse me. Actually I find myself liking you more every time I see you."

Her returned smile was thin and small.

"We'll find out what your task is and we'll get you through it," he said, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "There's still hope, you know. The future isn't pre-ordained."

She nodded. "I know."

"I gotta go before they start wondering where I am," he said, standing from her tiny, barely shoulder-width cot. It was difficult to believe that once Zack had been younger, shorter, less capable, and in a similar cot and uniform as she.

She stood to meet him and nodded. Then, she tiptoed to settle her chin on his shoulder, arms around his neck. Her eyes stayed stuck open because there were nightmares behind her eyelids.

"Yeah," she said, clutching the back of his neck. "I'm sorry, again."

"For what?" he asked, softly in her ear, with his arms firm around her waist. She could feel him faintly shake his head. "What you are? Or what you've done?"

"Both," she whispered.

* * *

Sleep didn't come easy and when it did the nightmares arrived. She would be tireder waking than prior to rest. The dreamscape morphed from false to reality when the firing of a single bullet towards the head of a faceless soldier—friend or foe unclear—turned out to be nought more than a heavy rucksack being thrown down near a bed.

Aster's eyes flashed open. He hadn't even been particularly loud, the boy. She'd had to sit up and check the chalkboard to remind herself of his name: Henderson. Best part of twelve weeks sharing a room and yet she still barely knew anyone. She laid back in the bed until the cadets—no, the soldiers—began to file back home in earnest. They brought with them the raucousness the infantry is known for, as if they'd cocooned from timid cadets in their hometowns and emerged into the military as gun-toting, potty-mouthed, arrogant butterflies.

"Nice seeing you, 'princess'," said Matt as he sauntered in past her, then physically recoiled from the sour expression that pinched her features. "Shit—too soon?"

Matt had probably been the most consistent with her, besides Rex. Never been anything less than cordial. To anyone. He was one of those universally liked people with a boyish wit, big laugh and gaggle of swarming friends. Not an enemy. Aster had to remind herself of that.

She touched her lips to release her furrowed scowl. "Sorry. Tilted me for a second there."

He snorted and slung his rucksack over his shoulder. "If you're that quick to anger, I'm gonna have fun over the next few weeks."

"Watch out or I might just end up—"

"—Kicking me out of the military?" he said with a grin. Pushing buttons. The dimples on his cheeks made it hard to get mad. Maybe that was his charm.

The ghost of a smile passed over her face. "Actually, I play a mean game of stabscotch and you look like an easy match."

Matt laughed and strode up to his bed. "Dick."

Suddenly, Aster got an overwhelming feeling that Matthew Carpenter was the recruit that drew the phallus on the chalkboard. She snorted to herself and folded her legs beneath her, watching the laughter and conversations that bubbled in the room. Still an outsider watching in, like a shunned child in a playground, but better. The rot in the atmosphere had mostly cleared, all that remained was that which clung to her skin.

A backpack hurtled towards her head and narrowly missed. It hit Rex's bed and bounced to the floor with a deceptively loud thud. The owner, the aforementioned blonde whose head was now buzzed at the sides and still long and sweeping at the top, grabbed her in something too rough to deserve the title of hug—more of a tackle—and proceeded to smack the hands and bump shoulders with anyone nearby who would entertain him.

Aster regarded him with a poorly contained snort. "Glad to be back?"

"Frothing, mate, you know me," he said, flopping down against his cot which creaked beneath him. His bones must have smacked straight through the thin mattress and into the beams below. "Just love these shitty beds."

"Eight weeks and you'll be out of it for good."

"And I am so ready for that," he said.

"Did you have a good time at home? Your family okay?"

"They're," he hesitated. "Yeah, they're okay. Considering."

"Considering what?"

Rex looked at her and grinned. It didn't reach his eyes. "Considering I'm gone, obviously. Mum and Dad were clingy. I'm the shining ray of light in their lives."

"I'm surprised your big head fit through the door."

"Was a squeeze, I gotta be honest," he said. "How'd your mission go?"

The mission was a success because everyone that needed to be dead was dead and everyone who needed to be alive was alive. Shinra suffered no fatalities which seemed almost like a miracle after everything Aster had seen, but it was bloody and brutal and more violent than ever anticipated. Everyone always thinks they know what they've signed up for when it comes to the military, and they're always wrong. Aster didn't know what she hadn't signed up for. Reality can prove to be blacker than the imagination can prescribe, at times.

But she didn't say this aloud, because it wasn't what he asked, even if she thought he'd listen to her. Instead, she said, "All went according to plan."

Her mind trailed to the plan to get information from the two Crescent Unit officers and Tseng's improvisation thereafter.

"Well, almost," she added.

And Zack discovering her military identity was no plan of hers either.

"Good-o," he said. "You didn't get hurt?"

"Not really."

"Lucky," he said. "So, you didn't get any free time?"

Aster shook her head. "Got back a few hours ago."

"I guess you prefer it that way," he said, mentally summarising all the things she'd told him over the previous couple of months. "If you had the choice would you stay here or go back to your old life?"

It wasn't a choice she had so it wasn't one she liked to think about. If it hadn't been Rex that asked her, she probably wouldn't have entertained the question. But it was, so she sighed inwardly and did just that.

"I suppose there are things for me in Icicle Inn and things for me in Midgar," she said, stretching her legs to rest her feet against his bed while her hips remained on her own. "But if I went home temporarily, I wouldn't want to come back."

"Is that true?"

The question hit her with a fist. Was it true? Did she hate this life as much as she thought? Or did she love it but hate the circumstances? And what kind of person was she if she could find comfortability in a situation like this?

Rex noticed she'd frozen up. He shrugged. "Don't feel too cut up about it. Travel is a thing. You don't have to swear yourself to one country for the rest of your life."

"Is _that_ true?"

Rex frowned. "Probably not. Kind of tied to our jobs. Married to Midgar."

"You're a beautiful bride."

"Thanks," he said, completely deadpanned. "I guess you didn't get to…you know."

"What?" she asked with a frown.

He cocked his head towards Newberry's bed.

"_Oh_."

"The hell did you think I meant?"

"I thought you were asking about my sex life."

"What?" His voice squeaked out at least half an octave higher than usual. "No—no way. I view you as a sexless being; incapable."

Aster spat out a laugh. "I'm that gross?"

"N-no, that's not what I meant," he spluttered. "I meant that you—I don't even imagine that you—"

"Well, stop imagining me naked!"

Rex had bloomed from dusty pink to vivid cerise on the colour chart. "I don't—I meant—"

Aster interrupted him with a veritable explosion of laughter. "Are you okay? You look like you're about to suffer an apoplexy."

"You're mean."

The laugh strangled itself in Aster's throat as she laid back against her bed and came out sounding funny, which finally brought a laugh out of Rex, too.

She said, "No, sadly, is the answer to your earlier question. Didn't get chance. I intend to find out more, though."

"I think he lives in Midgar, you know."

"Which means I'm not safe yet."

"How can you go from laughing like a gassed-up hyena to the aftermath of a tranquilliser in less than three seconds?" he asked, though she was still chuckling. "You're so gloomy when you tell the truth."

"Would you rather I tell you happy lies?" she said with a big grin.

"Always."

"Okay," she said with her tongue in her cheek. "I like your new haircut."

"I actually hate you."


	26. Fool For You

**A/N: I think I've mentioned this before but I'll say it again—I mixed the uniforms from both OG FFVII and Crisis Core. As many of you will know, CC uniforms were light blue, blue and black for third, second and first respectively, and VII was blue, red, purple/black (we know it was black from the FMVs but I give an honourable mention to the purple because how could I not it's iconic). I, in all my infinite wisdom *cough* god complex *cough* decided to take the pale blue from CC, the red from VII and the shared black for First. Thx 4 listening to my ted talk x **

**Can I also just say a massive big fat thank you for all the reviews since last update and the ones before, honestly I was so excited I couldn't even sleep as I was reading them as they came in. I really really hope you continue to enjoy the story-I have the whole thing planned out and know exactly what's going to happen so I hope it lives up to your expectations! **hifivebuddy** you literally made my whole week so thank you for that!**

18th Mar '20

* * *

**Chapter 26: Fool For You**

Infantry training resumed—began?—the following week with a new form of Skill at Arms. Sword Practice. It wasn't quite as glamorous as it sounded. By mid-week she was over it.

A four-and-a-half-foot blunt pole smacked into Aster's ribs and flung her into the handrail against the mirrored wall in the training room. It was fixed, incidentally. The mirror. She noticed in the corner of her eye as her reflection fell to the ground in a spineless heap of limbs. Her sparring-partner and personal tutor was Cloud. Apparently he didn't suffer fools lightly.

He lifted her under the armpit. Aster had half-expected some kind of apology or maybe some encouragement from the SOLDIER Third. She was wrong.

"You didn't block," he said matter-of-factly.

"Cloud, are you serious?" she asked, whipping her head around to the others in the room. Each infantryman was paired with a SOLDIER member to receive one-on-one instruction. It didn't take a minute to notice no one else had just been flung to the floor. She watched Rex deftly sidestep and lunge, slicing through the air with his pole, then nod when his instructor commented, and try again. Gently learning the calisthenics and footwork involved in parries and thrusts and blocks.

Cloud must have decided Aster needed a rougher approach. No molly-coddling, just improvement every damn day. How she liked it. But still. He threw her into a wall.

"What?" he asked, and his training pole twirled as he swung it with his shrug. He made it look as though it wasn't weighted. "That wasn't even SOLDIER-strength."

She squeezed the skin of her arm that had just taken the blunt force of her bodyweight against the handrail, wincing, then picked up her pole.

"I think you need to be more aware of how strong you in fact are, then."

"Distancing isn't my strongest suit," he said nonchalantly.

"No kidding," Aster said, picking herself up to her feet and inspecting her exceptionally reddening flesh. "That is gonna bruise so bad."

Cloud wasn't one to pander to whining. "Then be glad it wasn't my actual sword. I'd have cut you in half."

"Can you try not to?"

"If I did that, it wouldn't be a true-to-life experience."

"Cloud, this is my second session!"

He dropped his pole with rattling clunks against the floorboards and adjusted Aster's grip on hers.

"Pommel needs to be near enough in front of your belly button—okay, it's a pole, it doesn't have a pommel, but you understand—and point the tip," he said, tapping the point. "towards the enemy's throat or chest. That'll keep them from getting too close." His lower lip jutted upward for a moment. "Probably chest since you're kinda short."

Aster stared at him. "You are exactly two inches taller than me."

"Keep your right arm straight but not locked or you'll break your arm under the force. I'm stronger than you."

"Are you listening to me?"

"I generally find it easier not to."

"Cloud!"

He started to laugh. At first glance, Cloud's features, from the corners of his eyes and mouth to the shape of his hair, appeared sharp, hard, and serious. His soft laughter seemed out of place, almost, a little like the common language coming from a foreigner's tongue. It made Aster smile.

"Try some strikes," he said. "I won't hit back this time, but it was a good example of what you can expect if you don't get good, quick. I'm not gonna go easy on you. Alright, so I won't go SOLDIER either, because you won't be able to handle it, but we're not gonna pretend you're better than you are."

Don't ask Cloud to offer sugarcoating, but it was really no different from her coaches back home. It was she was used to there, it was what she was used to from Tseng, and was what she had come to expect here.

"Good," she said. "I wouldn't want anything less."

Cloud nodded and grabbed his pole from the floor. "What's the point in training if you can't transfer your skills to the field?"

"Exactly," she said with a growing grin. She lunged in to strike as he showed her, and the contact of pole on pole made a satisfying, sharp crack sound. Pain shot up her elbow. Okay, so he was right about the whole don't-lock-your-arm thing. "I want to get strong enough that I can head up against those anti-SOLDIER monsters like you did in Fort Condor. Who trained you?"

He blocked her incoming strikes effortlessly, as if she was patting him with a pool noodle, not a weighted training instrument. She found herself stop trying to not hit him by accident because it became very clear that that was simply not going to happen. It was almost frustrating.

"I got a lot of one-on-one with Zack since we've been friends since way back when I was a cadet and he was a Second," he said. He dodged her next blow and, since she wasn't expecting it, she stumbled to keep the weight of her own swing. He said nothing, but the lesson was noted. "Uh, I've done some training with Sephiroth, too."

Her mouth fell open and she hesitated. "Are you serious?"

As if his words had conjured them like spirits, Aster became very suddenly aware of the other members of SOLDIER in the room. SOLDIER uniforms of deep red, Second Class, realistically the pinnacle of the SOLDIER Dream since First Class was reserved for the truly exceptional. It was a room full of deep red SOLDIER uniforms and blurs of blue and gunmetal grey from the infantrymen in training. And then there was Cloud, in his pale, Third blues amongst them all, doing far more than simply keeping up.

When she looked back at Cloud, her perception had changed, somehow. She wondered how often he was underestimated.

He was staring into his memories just over her shoulder, unaware. "Sephiroth's strength is unreal, but he's not much of a teacher. His 'teaching' is along the lines of 'just kill it in one hit' like it's easy."

"What, like, 'just block, Aster'?" she asked, mocking his voice.

He laughed again. "That's not what I said, but I get your point. Excuse me for thinking you could handle it."

Aster's eyebrow cocked up. "That sounded like a challenge."

"Thought that might have an effect."

And it did. Training did not end until loose hair fell wet against her forehead, flat with sweat, and everything ached. No bell tolled at the end of the session, but for a resounding shriek from Aster's throat as Cloud's dupe sword pounded into her hipbone at exactly the worst angle and doubled her over.

"Just block, Aster," she murmured to herself deliriously as she stumbled weakly into the handrail against the mirror that mocked her with her own sorry reflection. Cloud was too fast and too strong, and too often forgot he was only training with a grunt and not a fellow member of SOLDIER. He wasn't apologetic about that fact, either.

"You got time for extra training today?" he asked after the instructor bellowed dismissal.

"Sorry, no. Tseng's taking me out of lunch." Aster racked her training pole then waved her hand at Cloud. "That's _out_ _of_ lunch. Not out for lunch. That would be nothing short of terrifying," she muttered as she patted her blotchy cheeks and forehead with a towel. "I've got marks tests, SAA for short blades and 'makeshift weapons'—hyped, by the way—and 'Advanced Survivalist Measures' or something, today."

"Do you even get time to sleep?"

"Actually, I got a full four hours last night so I feel pretty good."

Cloud looked at her like her nose morphed into a chocobo's beak.

She smacked him on the arm, a mannerism she'd picked up from the overtly masculine energy in the barracks (she was starting to think testosterone was actually tangible and that it was soaking into her skin at night while she slept), and grinned at the blonde.

"See ya later, Cloud. Thanks for today. Not for the bruises, though."

He blew a laugh through his nose and gave her his signature barely there smile. "Noted."

No time to shower. She limped out on a sore hip through the training floor, past many less beat up looking soldiers, into an elevator. A glass one. A conscious decision; the logic was that if there was another break in, she'd be able to climb up using the treads of the platform in order to get out safer. She didn't even consider how absurd it was to adapt her daily life to accommodate for wartime disasters, when previously the most she might have to navigate was how heavy the snow fall was the night before and if she'd have to wake up earlier to shovel snow manually before the snowplows were out in earnest.

The doors pinged apart onto the SOLDIER floor without political catastrophe.

Tseng was due to be around here somewhere; for ease, they were meeting here to move on to marks immediately after his conference—or whatever he was doing—no time to waste, and all that. She didn't exactly know where, though, and found herself wandering through hallways and foyers, eyeing the glow of SOLDIER members from beneath the shadow of her helmet. She stopped abruptly, watching a SOLDIER Second step through a frosted glass door, and stole a glimpse at the inside of briefing room 02 where he approached one of the great armoury deposit pods that looked slightly like futuristic vending machines which, she supposed, they were. The door slid shut just as he approached the mission board.

Aster turned the corner wondering what mission he'd accept and how much he'd get paid for it when she stopped again to watch and unidentified Third scrubbing the floor on his hands and knees with a ragged mop head and red bucket. Clearly punishment detail. She smiled, then a figure striding out of briefing room 08 caught her eye.

"Zack?" she said, then kicked into a jog to catch up to him as he pulled down a corridor. He didn't stop. His shoulders were tight and a dark air followed him, perhaps that fog clouded his mind, and that was why he didn't answer her. Maybe. "Zack!"

Her fingers found the crook of his elbow and she pulled herself in front of him, but when she looked up at him her jaw fell.

"Goddess, Zack, what happened?"

A bead of blood, dark but fresh, swelled and rolled down his upper lip, and his cheekbone shone and blushed in a way that could only imply he'd taken a blow. Recently.

"Run in with your boss," he said curtly. There was something about the way he said it that felt weaponised. Sharp.

"My boss." She scrunched up her nose. "Tseng?"

Zack nodded and brushed past her. She felt her ribs crush in on her lungs and a distinct twisting feeling in her gut as she watched him go, and the feeling quickly turned red hot because Aster didn't do sadness, only anger.

"Hey," she called, snatching his wrist. She circled to his front again, and as quick as it had boiled, her anger dissolved. It might have been the colour of his eyes on her.

It was weird. Still. That he knew. Uncertainty writ over his features again, and for fear that she might mirror them in her own, she focused on gently wiping the blood from his face with her thumb, then smeared it over her combat pants. It gave him a second, a thought, a breath long enough to compose himself.

"I'm meant to be meeting him here," she said, wondering if that fact might make things worse, more uncomfortable. She hoped he couldn't tell she was nervous. "What happened?"

He didn't quite meet her eye. "I've got a mission with him soon. You came up. I got mad. Now he's got a black eye."

She took a full step back and jutted her head forward. "You hit him?"

"In my defence, he pissed me off," he said with an uncharacteristically dark smirk.

"That's not a defence!"

"Now 'Geal's mad at me too, 'cause I 'caused a scene'," he said, waggling his fingers around near his face. "That's nothin'. If he wants to party—"

Zack's theatrics weren't instilling confidence. "You'll get in trouble."

He puffed out his chest and his smirk morphed into a grin. "I'm in a perpetual state of trouble."

"_More_ trouble."

"Maybe a bit," he said, then dropped the grin for something more subdued. He shrugged once and his shoulders never quite returned to the height before. With downcast eyes and a voice smaller than she knew it to be, he said, "Angeal just told me to go home."

Aster sank her teeth into the welt inside her cheek. Was it selfish of her to wonder if he was struggling to come to terms with the truth she had delivered him? Was it self-centred? The world did not revolve around her; Tseng sought to remind her of that fact every fifteen minutes.

So she forced a smile and reached to take one of his hands in hers. "Have a drink for me then, won't you?"

His cheeks bunched in amusement. "It's two pm."

"Never too early."

"Then I will do," he said with a laugh. He closed some of the distance between their bodies until she could smell the aftershave on his neck, and she prayed he couldn't smell the dry sweat on hers, and he set his free hand against her hip. She stifled her wince expertly. Didn't even let out a squeak. He wouldn't have known at all as long as he hadn't watched the faint twitch of her jaw as her teeth cut deep into the sore inside her lip.

He couldn't hate her. She was certain she'd been hated before—even besides the obvious—and people that hate you don't hold your hand. They don't touch your body. They don't smile or stand this close.

"I still owe you a date, remember?"

And they don't say that.

Her lips pulled into a bud as she tried not to smile too over-keenly. "Oh yeah?"

"Yeah," he said, then nudged her helmet off from her face and placed his hand back against the exact spot Cloud had tried to split her hipbone in two. Gentle, but felt like dropping a stone slab. "Could make you dinner."

She smiled up at him through her lashes, pretending that if she ignored it hard enough, the hair that stuck to her forehead would vanish. "Rather you make my breakfast."

She smacked her hand across her mouth when she realised and crippled herself laughing.

"That is an arrangement that can be made," he said, unfazed, smirking.

Although her cheeks were red she could still smile, flicking her eyes from his to his lips, where his tongue peeped over his straight teeth, his charming grin. Aster tiptoed and leaned into him until her lips brushed into his, and her lower back tingled when her closed his around hers. Her heart pounded, more than before, and it felt like maybe everything would be okay.

Then Zack abruptly pushed down her helmet and shot back from her with a hard face, leaving her heart to drop in her chest without his steady hands to catch it.

A few seconds after the fact, she heard footsteps, and finally saw a few Seconds crown the corner of the hallway. Zack had heard them before she had, of course, with his enhanced hearing. And quickly back came the feeling of dread she'd felt before. Maybe it wouldn't be okay, after all. Maybe this would always be a problem.

"Alright, soldier, you got that? Saturday, eighteen-hundred hours."

"Understood, sir," she said, gloved fingertips near her temple. She couldn't read his expression, mostly because he was acting, but she had a sneaking suspicion something else was on his mind, too. Her spine felt rigid and her salute uncomfortable, so she ducked past him towards the briefing room he had exited before her body could linger. As she did, she felt him touch her back gently, but she couldn't look back because the Seconds were approaching.

She turned the corner and peered back as she heard the Seconds greet him. His shoulders seemed lighter than before. Perhaps he felt better. She smiled and disappeared into briefing room 08.

Inside, she got a better look at the pods she had watched the SOLDIER member approach earlier. Giant, shuttle-like tubes and dispensers that gave weapons, items and apparently even materia, if the mission so called. Another door to her right sat in a wall of crystalline glass with reams of frosting, and it sheared off the mission acceptance and preparation area from the briefing area. Aster lifted her hand to knock but the door slipped out from beneath her knuckles.

This room was lit like a cinema—the primary light source was the screen at the far wall that was fixed white and buzzing with static disconnect of a concluded meeting. As if responding to her presence, the screen went black as abruptly as pulling the plug, and the dimmed lights on the walls seamlessly brightened the room in its absence.

A conference table, glass and grey, much like everything else in the Shinra Building, stretched through the room, and three men turned to face her. One was Angeal, leaning with his hips against the desk and his back to the screen, then Genesis, who draped across three chairs with his ankles crossed and a book in his hand, and Tseng, stood with his hands clasped behind his back. With a bruising cheek and brow bone. The sight of it revived the anger she had lost before.

Angeal unfurled his arms and stood to his full height.

"Just as a summon, speak of her and she shall arrive."

Aster cocked her hanging hand into a salute as she stepped through the door.

"Gentlemen," she said, inclining her head to the SOLDIER Firsts. "Tseng."

"The disrespect," said Genesis with a smirk as he kicked his legs off the chair.

Tseng didn't react.

She pointed back to the door. "What did you say to him?"

"Ah," she heard Angeal say affirmatively.

Tseng, of course, didn't react. He looked at her with the same level of disinterest as always. At least nothing had changed.

"He was making demands he hasn't the authority to make. He needed reducing a notch."

"As did you, I presume, unless your eye isn't, in fact, swelling like a deformed eggplant."

A chuckle both rose and died in Angeal's throat and it drained the abscess of building tension that seemed to form wherever that young soldier went.

"We were but discussing the disadvantages of sending the two of you on a mission together ever again. The general consensus was that you would both take even more unnecessary risks than usual. Some offence was taken," he said.

Aster flicked her eyes to Genesis, who, by the crinkling of the corners of his eyes, looked amused. So he knew now, too. This wasn't the course of action she had expected from Tseng, nor Angeal, for that matter. She would have expected at least some kind of stern talking to. She certainly never expected them to keep it in a quiet little inside pod of knowledge. _Why_?

Genesis distracted her.

"'Disadvantages'?" he said. "Understated, by the sound of it. Try 'dangers'."

Tseng nodded. "Certainly if his most recent outburst is anything to go by."

"Outburst?" Aster asked. "But he's so—"

Angeal interrupted, of course, the most qualified to speak. "Zack is incredibly headstrong."

"The word I believe you are looking for is 'over-emotional'," Tseng said with a quirked lip.

"Also true," Angeal said with half a laugh, folding his arms back across his chest. Zack was an impressively built man, yet somehow Angeal dwarfed him. His forearms were almost as thick as her thighs. The fact that he looked ready at a moment's notice to smash a fist through a brick wall juxtaposed what next left his mouth. "I call him Zack the Puppy."

Aster spoke beneath her breath. "That is the most adorable thing I've ever heard."

To which Tseng rolled his eyes. Each day seemed to chip away at his already short supply of patience. "Zack is headstrong and you are reckless. A deadly combination given your proximity with one.

She grimaced at his chosen words.

"But listen to me," he said and his gaze grew severe. Black eyes with the hard glint of a cat before the kill. "Whatever he has said to you, and I suspect he has told you everything he thinks he knows—practically nothing—you must not allow it to interfere with these late stages of your training."

Her eyes drew to her boots. Everything he thinks he knows. Was Zack wrong? Did he even know that Zack claimed to know what he did? Did the last three Turk Selectives really die? They could have been freak accidents. Three of them. In a row. Unlikely. Possible. Maybe there were more who were successful, but kept secret by the Turks. She was different, anyway. She was being trained differently. Must be a different aim, different goal. Something better? Something worse?

She wanted to ask him. Settle her mind, since she was fairly sure she'd thought of every possible reason Zack could have been wrong yet none of them held any real weight. She'd considered that she could have been biased, Zack's word was more important to her than anyone else's, yet it wasn't exactly like she _wanted_ to believe Zack was right either. Of course she didn't. Neither did he. At this point, the only thing that would settle her mind would be convincing, pretty lies.

Her voice came out small. "Understood, sir."

"I must admit, Tseng," Angeal said, "I am surprised you've allowed it."

It took a while for 'it' to register as the situation between Zack and Aster as a whole. The next question was whether or not the root of Angeal's statement was 'why haven't you put a stop to it' or 'is it in her best interests'? Tseng's side or Aster's side. Then she quickly realised it was neither—he was on Zack's. Tseng's games and Aster's feelings meant nothing.

Somehow, that comforted her.

"It doesn't concern me," Tseng said.

The deepening of the crease between Angeal's eyebrows suggested he found this untrue.

"Come on, Doe," said Tseng, pointing to the door. "We've no time to waste, now."

"Uh, right," she said, finding herself turning to the door at his whim. Then suddenly she turned on her heel to Genesis. "Oh, uh, sir."

He raised an eyebrow and flicked his eyes at her from across the table. The Mako glow, it wasn't a brightness in the sense of a light, just vivid, intense blue or blue-green, clear as day from any distance. On Genesis, with his red hair and red coat, quite striking. He looked at Angeal then back to Aster as though adjudicating whether she was actually talking to him or not.

"Yes?"

"A while ago you told me to seek you out if I had any—" Tseng's eyes bored into her cheek. Suspicions as to the nature of the Wutaian monsters, was the end to her sentence. She didn't feel like bringing it up in front of Tseng. Her eyes flicked to the worn book in Genesis's leather-gloved hand. It was leather bound. He had a problem. "—Uh, if I had any questions about LOVELESS."

"Infinite in mystery is the gift of the Goddess. We seek it thus, and take to the sky. Ripples form on the—"

"—I mean—not right now," she added hurriedly. "I was just hoping to get the chance to speak to you at some point. When you're free."

Angeal pressed his hands to his face and spoke through them. "Do so at your own risk, Doe."

"Er, right."

"You know where to find me," Genesis said, pocketing the small, white poetry book inside his trench coat.


	27. All I Know

**A/N: Hey guys! Sorry it's been so long! (Don't worry, I hate me too.) Life happened and stuff and I got the REMAKE (no remake spoilers but omgomgomgomgomgwtfwtfwtfwtfwtf) and that swallowed a solid two weeks of my life up then some other stuff and more stuff and UGH. You know how it goes. **

**In light of the remake and as a general note anyway, I have characterised Cloud based on the theoretical personality he might have if he hadn't been experimented on, so mixed his pre-Nibelheim tragedy persona (at only 14 years old) with his post-lifestream persona in the original game (not Advent Children—no mopeyness for me). So yeah. Smiley face. **

**SO. WHOOPS. It's been ages. Lotsa shit happened. To everyone. BUT WE'RE HERE NOW. As always I hope you're having a fantastic week and moreover, I hope you are and continue to stay safe. **

6th May '20

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**Chapter 27: All I Know**

Aster pulled at the hem of her shorts to dry her palms. They didn't cover the mottled bruising on her knees or the fine scar that formed where the halberd had slashed through her holster and fatigues the week before. It was still pink. She brushed her finger across it, raised like braille. It would have been difficult to lie that one away. Now she didn't have to.

Shorts were a far cry from the neck-to-knee Bandersnatch pelt cloaks that the girls of Icicle Inn were particularly fond of that year. When she had asked her mom, one of the town's skilled seamstresses, to make her one, her dad had whirled around that it would be much too short and her legs would catch the death of the icy wind. A breath blew through her nose at the memory, once mundane, now fond. She wondered what he'd say if he knew how short these shorts were, despite the fact it was twenty degrees celsius warmer in Midgar than the Knowlespole.

The thought distracted her long enough to knock on a door in one of the SOLDIER buildings, way up on the First floors, without stopping to address the fluttering in her stomach.

"Door's open!"

The latch clicked as she pushed the handle and the room spread before her and invited her in much less frantically than last time. This time, without fear and adrenaline and panic, Zack's apartment embraced her. When she closed the door behind her, it slammed in the faces of those emotions. She knew intimately well they could not reach her here. Walls of salt repelled her demons.

The apartment was distinctly masculine, all glass, leather, and shades of charcoal with a dark wood floor. It felt like a hotel room but lived in for years. Long-term temporary. The smell of his soap drifted from beyond the ajar bathroom door, base notes of wood and something fresh, and through that door she could see a fogged up mirror collecting tears.

The door opened fully, and Zack emerged, pulling a heather-grey shirt down over his chest. If only he had appeared a moment sooner.

"Could've been untimely if it wasn't me, huh?" she said with a grin, pretending her cheeks weren't turning pink.

"Nah, I knew it was you. Exactly on time—military girl, you know."

He said it with a smile but his words sounded staccato against the now prominent silence. Aster bit hard on the inside of her cheek with the same stiff smile and a nod.

She hugged her arms and said, "I've been looking forward to this all day."

Then the smile on Zack's face reached his eyes.

"Only all day?" he asked, confident or arrogant, as he hooked his fingers around her elbows and stepped in to kiss her.

She sucked in a deep breath through her nose—her first mistake, since it made her mind hazy. Her second mistake was failing to exhale until he pulled away, because lightheadedness prevailed.

Her words came out breathlessly and all rolled into one. "Okay—I meant all week."

"Better." He grinned. "Gotta stop at Teef's real quick before we go."

"Sure," Aster said with a shrug. "She there? She's usually at the bar on Saturdays."

Zack grabbed a hoodie off the back of his couch and a key from his pocket. "Yeah, I already asked."

If Aster wasn't at the bar—not that she technically worked there, she was more along the volunteer line than employee—and Tifa wasn't, either, who the heck was?

Sure enough, Tifa was in her showroom home, the only room truly lived in being her kitchen, when steam rose and licked the tiles with sweat, and dampened the herbs and spices peppered the counter. On chopping boards, chunks of raw meat piled high atop of one another, seemingly enough to feed fifty people, and on others, fully cooked. A bunch of containers were stacked beside them. Okay, she was either doing some serious batch-cooking or Cloud is a hell of a big eater.

Tifa was red in the face and her apron was splashed with soup but she still managed a smile as she handed Zack a set of keys with a chrome chocobo keyring, and though she returned instantly to her bubbling pots and pans and Zack seemed eager to leave, Aster hesitated. There was something about the way she scraped one of the heaps of diced chicken into the hissing oil, and how her knuckles paled in her grip of the wooden spoon. Urgent, like a competition, a race, not cooking for the love of it like she usually would.

"Tifa?" Aster said, leaning over to get a better view of her friend's face that stared so intensely into the pan. "You look kinda anxious. You okay?"

Tifa had turned twenty around three weeks ago, yet somehow the catering ordeal surrounding her had aged her by ten years. She blinked a few times and the lines disappeared from her face.

"Yeah. Guess I'm a little stressed."

"Is it work?"

Tifa set the wooden spoon down and watched the oil like a tea leaf reader. "I suppose. I've got a lot on my plate at the moment."

"Shinra?"

"Sort of," she said, and picked the spoon up again. She turned the meat over absently. "How do I put it? I've got a lot of deadlines coming up, I suppose. There's a lot going on."

Aster set her hand on Tifa's shoulder. Clammy. She wondered when she'd last left the kitchen. "Let me know if I can help."

Tifa looked at her for a moment with round, red eyes. They creased at the corners when she smiled and nodded. "I will. Go enjoy your date, okay?"

"Thanks," Aster said. She stopped herself halfway through the kitchen door, hand against the frame. "Oh, what were the keys for?"

Tifa scoffed loudly. "As if I'm going to spoil it!"

* * *

The building elevator pulled Zack and Aster down to the basement parking lot of the complex, though not without obligatory elevator jokes and subsequent eye-rolling from both parties.

"I reckon Cloud and Tifa are dating," Aster said with her lips pulled into a thoughtful rosebud pinch.

Zack practically choked on the notion. "Yeah, right. Cloud and Tifa aren't dating."

The doors slid open to the cool concrete spill. Aster shrugged and led him out. "They spend a lot of time together, you know."

"Nah," Zack said, looping the set of keys with a chocobo on them around his finger. "Cloud can't talk to women like that. He's the worst. Couldn't ask a pretty clerk to lick a postage stamp. I've seen him try."

Aster scrunched up her nose.

"Really? Are you just holding him to your standard?" she asked, then almost bumped into him when he abruptly stopped beside the door of a small, pristine pale blue pickup truck that definitely wasn't his motorbike. The carry bed was covered over with a black, waterproof cap. She looked at him. "Is this…?"

Zack dangled the chocobo between her eyes. "Teef's."

She slipped the keyring off his finger. "Can I drive?"

He might have protested if it weren't for the grin she shone at him—and the fact she was already sat in the driver's seat. He leaned an elbow against the frame.

"You don't know where we're going."

She beamed at him. "I trust your directions."

The roof gave a tinny thump as he slapped it lightly. He was smiling at her as he made his way around the front go the truck to the passenger side; the headlamps flicked on and set ablaze the mako in his eyes.

And when she drove, her face lit up, too. Yes, the late evening sun streamed through the windscreen at an angle even the visor wouldn't block and her face glowed orange and eyes squinted because of it, but also, her whole body came alive. There was energy in how she held herself.

"Didn't realise you were such a gearhead," he said, draping his hand out of the window.

"Neither did I until recently."

Her knuckles, dusted with green and yellow bruises and the occasional cut, were pale against the wheel at ten and two, religiously. There could have been an image of her in a textbook for correct driving posture.

"Rex would call this a 'ute'," she said, bringing Zack back inside the truck. "Short for 'utility vehicle' or something. 'Ute'. Weird, huh? It's a totally pickup."

"Rex?"

"Yeah," she said, "You know. In my squad. Surrexit."

Zack met her eyes in the mirror. "You know much about him?"

Aster pinched her lips together then nodded.

"Yeah. He's my best friend in the barracks. He's from Rocket Town but he has a funny accent and weird speech expressions." She turned her head briefly to scan his profile, a memory of an encounter between them from months ago niggling in her mind. "Do you know him?"

"Not personally," he said.

Off the highway at a north-bound junction saw them funnelling through the busiest streets of Midgar's nightlife. All glitter and gold with store-fronts and restaurants piling three-storeys high on every street. Aster muttered something, and Zack turned from the wind to ask her to repeat herself.

Then he realised she was only concentrating. Her lips moved faintly but over the passing traffic and open windows and bustle of the people on the streets, he could hear passing phrases, but only because his hearing was augmented.

Commentary. It made sense, then, that she held herself in the vehicle like a model student, and how Tifa's truck was an automatic, but even still she touched the shifter as briefly as you might touch a hot plate without a glove. The way she breathed and her eyes bounced from mirror to road to mirror, and she spoke everything she saw almost silently. Vehicle registration numbers, models and manufacturers, street names and approximate speeds of cars around them. Like a machine. Zack shuddered to think what Tseng had been doing to her to instil such mechanic behaviour that she seemed both unaware of and unable to control. What the hell was he doing to her?

What the hell had he done to her?

"Close the window if you're cold."

"What?" he asked, lifting his jaw from his hand and feeling the red mark his palm had left there.

"You shivered," she said, laughing, light in the wind, hair blowing into the headrest. "Close the window!"

"Don't you ever get cold?" he asked, pointing to her bare legs with his eyes. She got the message.

"This is not cold. This is nowhere near cold, Jungle Boy. Besides," she said, shrugging, "I overheat easy."

Zack smirked. "Just give me five minutes alone with you."

The flush of her cheeks betrayed her loud laughter and rolling eyes. "Modesty doesn't suit you," she said.

"You're right. Two minutes."

* * *

As it turned out, the venture into the city streets was just a detour to pick up food. They returned to the truck and hit the western-bound highway until the city came apart like a jigsaw, the unfinished edge of Midgar, where tesseracts of reality were missing in chunks and the highway came to an abrupt end. In the distance, no doubt why Zack insisted on west specifically, the rocky landscape of Midgar crumbled into sand and seas that glowed golden in the late-day sun.

Aster leaned against the steering wheel and smiled against the light in her eyes and face. "Times like this make me think maybe it's not so bad."

"What's not so bad?"

She caught her falling smile and shrugged. If he was offering a road to talk about her feelings, she wasn't about to take it. "Everything, I guess."

He cocked his head toward the door. "Come on."

Aster watched the sun on the distant waves, sparkling with life and warmth. Inviting, unlike the northern seas. Calmer than last she saw them. Calmer than the half a day they spent stuck together on the ship. Although she had only been stuck for as long as she had wanted to leave, which equated for only as long as it took for the truth to come out.

Zack's door slamming home was the key in her ignition. She hopped out of the cab and it could've been her overactive imagination, but the air carried the taste of sea salt to her lips. In an instant it was gone, replaced by the metal and concrete and rigour and strength of the robust city of steel. Aster turned to her, the city, and she stood chest bared to the sun. The Shinra insignia branded across her breast and in the dying sun she stood proud, knowing that even in darkness she shone bright. Skyscrapers were lost beneath the grandiose of the Shinra building, yet added to the masterpiece that was her iconic skyline.

Any inch as far as the eye could reach was a magnum opus etched in gold and silver, and enough to take the breath away from even the most seasoned fine art spectators. In the shadow of the grandeur of the city, it was easy to believe she was as inconsequential as a grain of sand on a beach full. But actions always have consequences, and she was already responsible for more than she could bear to count.

Still, it was nice to pretend that she was just a girl and he was just a boy, and that neither of them had blood on their hands or knives at their necks.

"You know, the mountains and skies over Icicle Inn are so beautiful, and I've seen pictures and postcards of places like Mideel and Costa del Sol with their amazing tropical blue waters and white sand, and places like Kalm and the Chocobo fields where grass stretches for miles and its fresh and its lovely. I'd never thought that something this man-made and industrial could be just as…"

"Intense?" Zack offered as he wrestled with the tonneau cover over the bed of the truck.

It was the right word. Aster considered the first time she had been cleared to hike towards the Great Glacier with the local guides. The view from the top. The snow and the cliffs and the trees that looked like hedgerows in the distance far below, the faint curvature of the horizon and the reflection of the snow, and of course it was beautiful. But that isn't always the first thing that comes to mind. Overwhelming. Incredible. Intense. And she felt the same right about now.

Zack smiled the way a good-natured local might inwardly roll their eyes at a blatant tourist. "I felt the same, way back when. Thought you might wanna stay a while."

Finally the soft cover gave over the truck bed and Zack rolled it into a ball and tucked it near the wheel. The hard, likely aluminium or tin base of the bed had been covered by some kind of comforter or duvet. There were pillows and blankets and she simply watched in dumbed off bemusement as Zack vaulted in, the muscles of his shoulders lifting his body as if he weighed nothing.

"You thought of all this?" she asked before wedging her foot against a wheel as a step up.

He scratched the back of his head. "Teef helped me get the stuff together. Like the truck."

"It's incredible. Perfect."

"I wanted to spend more time with you," he said. His lips pinched in thought over the city. "Proper time. Not between customers in the bar, or at my apartment for thirty minutes before you have to go or I get called out, or in passing in hallways."

"Without time constraints."

"Proper time," he said, smiling, taking her hand and leading her in. "Out of the city, out of work, out of Shinra. Before—"

He cut himself off abruptly. Aster was glad, because she didn't want to go where it ended. She nodded her silent understanding and he mirrored her, then continued.

"I feel like there're things I know about you that I shouldn't have found out for years, and things that I should already know that I don't."

She hesitated, trying to gauge from his expression what he meant. Whether he meant he felt like he couldn't trust her or that early lies had shaken the foundation of the relationship they were still trying to build beyond repair. But his brows weren't drawn in serious thought, his face was open, and so simply she asked.

"What do you mean?"

He didn't pick up on the apprehension that rattled her voice. He grabbed a pillow and put it behind his back so he could comfortably sit back against the cab and watch the view, and passed her one too.

"I already know stuff like how you react to danger, to pain, to what should be immobilising fear—although you're handling that bit way too well. That's stuff you wouldn't normally find out about a person for a long time, right? Then there's other stuff, like the little stuff that you know about all your friends that I have no idea about with you. Like if you have pets at home or what you always wanted to be when you grow up."

She smiled and pulled the blanket up to their waists. "No pets. Wanted to skate. Wanted to be so good that I'd be remembered for years. Good enough to coach the best after retiring. But the pipe dream? The unattainable dream?" she said, as though becoming better than the best at ice skating wasn't a big enough unattainable goal on its own, "I wanted to be like you."

"Me?"

"Yeah," she said, flicking her thumbnails together. "I always saw myself as a military girl, as you said. Didn't think the dream would come to be, but here I am, I guess. It's not quite what I had in mind."

For a moment, he frowned. "Yeah, but, the Turks aren't really military at all. Not in the same way. They're part of intelligence. Different branch of Public Safety entirely." He shook his head. "That's what I don't get. Why are you being trained in the infantry in the first place? Look at Elena, Turk candidate. Trained by the Academy. Nothing to do with the infantry. It doesn't make sense. I just don't get it."

"I take it that's what you challenged Tseng with the other day when he punched you in the nose," she said with a straight face but a smirk in her voice. "How is that, by the way?"

He pinched his lips together. To begin with, it could be misconstrued as regret. With a second look it was clear he was containing a grin. "Worth it. Not every day you get to punch a Turk and get away with it."

"Be careful though, won't you?" she said, knowing firsthand the kind of injury Tseng was capable of inflicting whilst experiencing next to no—if any—remorse in the process. "Don't do anything too irrational?"

"Aster, he hit me first."

"What?" she shrieked, slamming her palm into his arm in disbelief. "Are you freaking serious? He made it sound like—"

Zack started to laugh. "Yeah, I think I woulda been arrested if I hit him without prompt."

"That," Aster said, and finding no suitable alternative seethed, "bastard."

"Beautifully put," he said, smirking as he rifled through the bag of takeout they'd grabbed in the city. He gave her the rice she'd asked for and passed her a pair of chopsticks in a paper sleeve. She looked at them blankly and Zack watched her with a sneaking suspicion that she didn't know how to use them. That suspicion became fact when she tried to use them without pulling them apart. He raised an eyebrow and snapped them for her. "I could've got you a spoon, you know."

"Well, there's another thing you didn't know about me. Never had Wutaian food."

He snorted and arranged the chopsticks in her fingers. "This is going to be a whole world of frustration for you. Think pincers."

"Pincers. I got this," she said, definitely without having got it, and routing through her carton grabbing aimlessly with a pathetically weak grip and getting food into her mouth only by balancing it on the chopsticks and sucking it off before it fell. "So. What about you? Pets? Lifelong dreams?"

He pointed at her with noodles spun around his chopsticks so artfully it made her both jealous and plainly inferior. "No pets. The dream was SOLDIER."

The smile on her lips spread to her cheeks. "What's it like? Fulfilling your dream?"

"Addictive," he said and his eyes caught fire. "Surreal. Complete one goal and move onto the next. 'Cause of that though, there's no like, endgame fulfilment. I'm not done, never done. The goal was SOLDIER, then Second. Then First."

"What's next?"

"Wanna be this way by that age. Have this by then. Beat this time by that much. I wanna help Angeal instil SOLDIER honour into every damn cadet I see. But the big one's gotta be freedom. Yeah, I wanna do good, I wanna be free."

She frowned. "Free from what?"

"Authority, obviously," he said, then pushed a ribbon of noodles into her mouth without much warning. "Wanna try?"

She nodded and hid her mouth behind her fingers. "They're good."

"Right? I only got 'em so I could tell my friends I went on a date and shared noods."

Aster laughed—almost choked—and shook her head. "Can I be there when you tell Cloud?"

* * *

The sun set and the moon rose. In patches of sky barren of clouds and smog, stars peeped out of hiding. The city of Midgar went from gold to orange to blue and back to gold, this time of twinkling lights that gave it a glimmer against the black night.

Empty food cartons laid strewn at the end of their makeshift bed and the waves behind them caught the light of the moon. It was exquisite, warm beneath the blanket, pillows under heads, sunk into the quilts beneath them. Aster could feel Zack's pulse between her fingers as his entwined hers and nothing else mattered.

"How old were you, Zack? When you were in my place?"

"In the infantry?" he asked and his eyebrows crunched in thought. "I left Gongaga for Midgar when I was fourteen, made SOLDIER on my first attempt and I was First by seventeen."

Aster rolled up onto her elbow with a fallen jaw. "What?"

He slid his eyes from the sky to hers. "That's the look everyone gives me."

She blinked once or twice and rearranged her features to resemble something less shocked, if that was what he wanted, but he shook his head.

"It's alright. It's not like I'm not used to it by now."

"That's incredible," she said, though he might not have heard her. "You're incredible."

"I'm the youngest First Class member of SOLDIER the world has ever seen," he said and looked back towards the stars. Aster watched for their reflection in his eyes but they weren't bright enough, too choked by smog. "Even now at twenty-two, there's no one younger than me in First. When I was eighteen, I was commanding over Seconds almost twice my age."

"Never been anyone like you before or since. Probably never will be," she said. "A prodigy."

"So they say," he said with a shrug. "But I can do better. More, push further."

"They'll have to make you a new class."

"Yeah," he said with a grin. "SOLDIER Ultimate Fair Class, Zack, on the freaking job!"

When she started to laugh, he sobered. "You don't just get to First and stop. You keep getting better, doing better. All the time."

"You really are a good example to everyone in Shinra. An ideal to strive towards. To be like you," Aster said trailing her finger across his hairline. "Although, you're a slightly different ideal to me."

His tongue peeped over his straight white teeth in his characteristically mischievous grin. "Ideal boyfriend?"

Aster felt her face blow hot but light was low and who the hell cares if he saw anyway? She nodded once but with force and a determined scowl that might have been better placed whilst saluting a commander on the battlefield. "Yeah. Yeah!"

He tucked his free arm behind his head. The glint in his eye morphed from mischief to pride. "I already called you my girlfriend. It was an accident, but it totally still counts."

"Ah," she said through a laugh, and flopped back into the pillows, "I knew that was an accident."

"But I didn't take it back," he said. "I was okay with it."

Aster hummed in contentment. "So was I."

"That's that then," he said as if pleased with himself, lifting their joined hands into the light of the moon. Her bracelet slipped down her wrist. The breakages of her bracelet and her wrist itself had been so numerous, she couldn't count. Zack was apparently thinking about it, too. He turned the white bead with the black letter A once and back. "I've never seen you not wear that."

Aster pinched her lips into a bud. She looked at Zack, the relaxed, warm ocean wave of colour and Mako intensity on hers, then back at her bracelet. "It's a pretty weird story."

"Don't worry about it," he said, and she believed he meant it.

"Alright. Hang on, then. And—listen, I don't want any pity. Please."

That was when his eyebrows began to draw together, because her mood had shifted. She was still smiling, but her face seemed to disconnect from her voice.

"When I was less than two years old, I was found curled in my dead mother's arms about fifty to a hundred miles outside of Icicle Inn."

Zack couldn't stop his eyes from widening.

"No one knows what happened," she said, voice as vacant as a local reporter commenting on a petty crime committed in a shopping mall. "It's an enigma, really. How my mother—and that's assuming she was my mother—got there. Why. How I survived when she died. They thought it could've been a murder, since she died so cleanly and wasn't mauled by monsters, then decided it could have been suicide, but why was I alive? Why was I even there? There weren't any discernible traces in the snow. No evidence. No leads. She was never identified and by proxy, neither was I. A general identification call was made from the Public Safety services stationed in the Knowlespole out to Midgar, but Shinra didn't know who she was, either. Figured she must have been some kind of traveller from Modeoheim or Bone Village, or one of the settlements further north that even seasoned hikers from Icicle Inn wouldn't dare try to reach."

Aster got up onto her knees and turned to face the seas. If the truck was facing west, and the mountains facing Midgar were in the south… She turned her head due north. Icicle Inn was up that way somewhere. She leaned against the cool roof with her chin resting on her knuckles. Zack shifted to meet her, circling their shoulders with the blanket, arm wrapped around her. He kept it there.

"Anyway. The bracelet was on my wrist. Except only the white beads. I added all the colourful ones as I grew up and it didn't fit anymore." She moved each white bead around in turn. "My first name, my date of birth."

"I've questioned both of those facts over the years. Am I even nineteen? Is my birthday truly the twenty-first of March every year? Or do I celebrate then when actually I was born in January? Or June? There aren't any official records to go by, so how can I be sure?"

She turned her head to Zack with a smile on her face where he expected none. "I've learned that ultimately none of that matters. Doesn't change who I am. The fact that no one knows who my mother was, and that there's even less hope for finding my father doesn't change a thing about me."

Zack traced his fingers up and down her shoulder. "What happened when they took you back to town?"

"My mom and dad adopted me. A middle-aged couple without children of their own." She shrugged. "I love them. They're my parents—do you know what I hate?" she said, and finally her face turned as hard as it possibly should have been all along. Stone in anger. "Sometimes people expect distance between my parents and I just because I don't have their blood. Now I—I've made some stupid mistakes and I've hurt my parents pretty bad before—but they _are_ my parents. I wouldn't love them any more or any less if they were my parents by biology, you know? This is all I know. I love them and they love me."

Aster didn't realise that the stone in her face had spread through her blood to every muscle until her voice dropped to a more sensible decibel and a breath shuddered over her teeth. Zack remained silent.

"I learnt that. I wish I could tell them," she added quietly. She unclenched her fists, fingertips pressed against the roof of the truck as if poised to play the piano. The next page of the sonata, the sweeping, gentle end after a powerful crescendo. "When I was four, we adopted my little brother and sister, Danny and Marina. They're related by blood, but we know about as much about their blood parents as we do mine. Mom calls us her patchwork family, but we work. There really is a lot of love in my household."

She rapped her knuckles against the truck. The memories really did no good—though she didn't want to call them that. Memories suggested the past. Her family wasn't past, it was present. It could be future. But what it definitely was, was a gaping wound full of rotting gauze and linen that bled and bled when the plug was removed. That was enough, for now. It was time to fill the wound with new bandages and stop the bleed for another day.

She looked at Zack again. "It's not some kind of trauma—my past. So, please don't treat it like it is. It didn't make me stronger and it didn't leave me in a mess, either. It's just a fact of my life from before my earliest memories."

"The trauma isn't in your past," he said.

"You mean it's here? Being here?" she asked. "I just don't know. I'm so conflicted. I ask myself all the time: do I hate being here, or is it what I always wanted? That dream of mine to be here, or was it always a nightmare?" She shrugged off those heavy questions and let them go in the breeze as if it were easy, yet it became apparent that her emotions were packed as tight as gunpowder. "It's probably a bit of both. But besides. It brought me to you. That wasn't particularly traumatic."

She glanced at Zack sidelong. "Cliché?"

"Not if it's true," he said.

She touched her lips to his. She meant to be brief, but his body was so warm and suddenly the air became so cold as it licked at her neck and made her shiver. Zack's arms wrapped around her shoulders, pulling her into a firm embrace, the blanket tight around them. She couldn't not smile. It was simply impossible.

They slipped back into the cargo bed, stealing tiny kisses between laughter and smiles. The sound of the wind blew over them but their blankets were impenetrable. Nothing else had to matter inside the confines of the cargo bed.

With Zack's head against a pillow as she fit her mouth to his it was easy for her to imagine they were somewhere else. His hand found the subtle curve between her waist and hip, and his fingers skimmed against her skin beneath her tank top. She pressed her hand to his side to stop her fingers trembling and wanted desperately to run it under his shirt, but couldn't quite summon the bravery and clutched the hem in a fist, pulling it towards her. But no matter how she pressed herself into him, or how much she pulled his body into hers, or how far into his mouth she let her tongue, it wasn't enough. Nothing was enough.

Between her lips, Zack murmured, "Can't we just stay here all night…?"

Her thigh between his and her fingers against his neck she breathed deeply, too deeply to retain a clear head. "Yeah…" she said, then swallowed it back with a faint laugh. "Wait, no, I have to be back or Tseng'll murder me."

It was intended to be light, but fell like a stone.

"Well," he said into the thick atmosphere, pretending it wasn't as clogged as it was, and running his hand up her spine. "I don't want to move. You'll have to force me."

"I'm in no fit state of mind to do that," she said in a much lower register than usual, like it was being dragged up from deep in her throat. Her heart pounded in her chest, against his.

Their lips met again, but this time with a certain degree of finality. Zack raked his fingers through the full length of her hair and sat them up slowly, supporting her back.

She pulled away with her fingertips brushing his jaw, breathless, but not worrying about it either. He was too, after all.


	28. Destitution

**A/N: Hey guys! I have so much to say but I don't wanna say it because let's face it, you're not here for my ramblings BUT ilysm thank you all so much for the reviews and follows and favourites and stuff like I read every review and message and then I can't sleep because it makes me so happy and I don't wanna disappoint you and stuff. But ily. It's really so encouraging so I really can't thank you enough, I love hearing from you.**

**This chapter effectively has a second part so…as Cid might say, hold onto your drawers and don't piss in 'em!**

**I hope you're having yourselves a lovely week and remaining safe and I will see you with the next update! **

27th May '20

* * *

**Chapter 28: Destitution**

Tseng drummed his long fingers against the glass-topped, v-shaped desk in one of the briefing rooms. It was room 08 for the sake of consistency, a value Tseng greatly appreciated where it was attainable. Genesis Rhapsodos had been pulled from the mission currently under preparation in favour of his services being leant to an operation elsewhere, and now they were a leader down. Consistency was already shaken. Fair was late. As was becoming the norm.

The blue light from the mission screen behind him changed to the world map, and the light caught on his cheekbone, creating an awkward glare on the bruise that was still there a week after its infliction. He hadn't treated it. Waste of resources—he'd leave his body to repair what was its own. Briefly the thought pulled him to consider the skin of Doe's neck, and whether or not the grape-sized bruises of fingerprints had yet faded to yellow.

He flipped open his PHS for the fifth time and called her. No response. He snapped it shut and ground his teeth. "I'd be inclined to suggest the pair are busy doing something no doubt unsavoury."

The words were directed towards the shoulder blades of Angeal Hewley. He shifted his weight foot to foot as he crossed his arms over his chest. "The puppy?"

"And his girlfriend," Tseng muttered, tapping the corner of his phone into the tabletop unceasingly as a woodpecker's bill on tree bark.

This mission was already taking time from Tseng that he did not have to spare. Heidegger had personally assured him that his time would not be wasted when he took on the Asura Project himself. He could dedicate his time as and where he saw fit, and that was with the project principal herself. Yet here he was, holed up in a mission briefing room planning a petty mission with SOLDIER, losing time on the operation that could define his career—for better or worse—Heidegger proving once again that his word was as solid as smoke, and losing further time because the member of SOLDIER holding him up couldn't keep his hands off the very girl Tseng was trying to train.

He flicked open his PHS once again and the bracket cracked in discomfort. Flip phones were impractical for angry handlers.

Then the door opened as lazily as the man that strolled through it, and he was grinning as he brought a bun towards his mouth wrapped in a napkin. It never made it to his mouth, because the grin melted off his face when it contacted with the steam rising from Tseng's body.

"Uh, sorry," Fair said. "There was a queue for the hotdogs."

"What?"

"Yeah, I was surprised, too."

"No." Tseng looked beside him. No sign of Aster Doe. "Where is she?"

One of Zack's eyes squinted and his brows pulled together.

"Aster," Tseng prompted. "Is she not with you?"

Zack's Mako eyes flicked to Angeal, then back to Tseng. "No? Was I s'posed to get her?"

Tseng stared at Zack blankly before launching the chair behind his knees back across the room as he rose. His head shook, faintly at first, then rougher, waking up the computer at the head of the conference table with several plastic thuds of the mouse against the worktop, hard as the auctioneer's gavel.

"What is it?" Zack said, but his words floated aimlessly around Tseng's head.

The keyboard clattered like ice in a tumbler as he punched in password by password and blue light stung his eyes. "She always answers her PHS—unless she's with you. Always. I need to find out where she is."

"She's probably just…at the bar or something."

It sounded rather like he was telling himself an unconvincing lie."

"No. She's smarter than that. She's good. She contacts me—even in the middle of a break in."

Zack glanced at Angeal then leaned over Tseng's shoulder to view the computer screen. A map of Midgar loaded up etch by etch and responded poorly to Tseng clicking and further typing. A serial code, another password. The line work of a three-dimensional likeness of Midgar began to scan. Then a red dot flashed up on the screen. The image zoomed beneath the Plate for a birds eye view of the Sector Six slums. The flashing dot nestled in the southwest.

He spat out a curse. "This is not good."

As he stood, the desk chair rolled into Zack's leg.

"Out of the way," Tseng snapped, pushing past him. "I need to retrieve my idiot protege before she's murdered or worse."

"What?" Zack swiped his arm broadly through the air as Tseng passed him. "Why? Where is she?"

Tseng nodded farewell to Angeal and strode from the room.

"_Tseng_!" Zack yelled, and tore after him.

* * *

**\- Earlier that same day -**

Aster had taken on a limp, as though her hip was disjointed, out of place. Rex hadn't asked, because he would have been worried for the answer, and Aster didn't mention it because, well, _most_ of her body ached. This was no different. Nothing special.

But it was a new limp, so it was noted and committed to the features of Rex's face as soon as she strode through the heavy sliding door whose red lamp had loomed over her bed for the past fourteen weeks. It was never guarded anymore. The doors that were guarded now were those that contained the latest batch of recruits on the floor below or above them. They weren't the newbies anymore. They only needed to receive their official accommodation now, at the end of infantry school, and then maybe their statuses as infantrymen—or by then, maybe even SOLDIER—would sink in.

Not that Aster had had the chance to have a heart to heart with the rest of her squad, it was but an assumption.

She hadn't seen much of Rex that day since he had not been in her marksmanship session, so when she did, near his bed, she asked him a question she'd formed early that morning before he'd even woken up.

"Rex, dude—" Living with nineteen men was having ill-effects on her. "How have you managed to drop eight places on the leaderboard? How is that even possible? In two weeks?"

"Oh," he said, making his sun-bleached accent sound even lazier, somehow. "So, you know how we got to start specialising and picking some of our training?" Aster nodded him on. "I took heaps that I hate and am shit at.

"What? Why? You were a good shot, I thought you'd at least take Advanced Marks."

He shrugged. "So I could get better at the stuff I'm bad at. My aim is decent enough to get me into SOLDIER, where I'd be almost exclusively working with a sword, and besides, I still do mandatory Basic Marks. And you're better than me. And it's more important for you to be good with a gun—you do Basic, Advanced, and have bloody additional tuition on top of that with the Turks, right? Firearms specialist seems about right for you."

She frowned and nodded in consideration. "Guess so." she said, then stretched her arms dramatically. Without Surrexit, Aster took second place. "I need competition—and I can't compete with Rohrbach. I hate it, but second is the new first. There's a glass ceiling between us lowly mortals and Lukas Rohrbach."

Although Rex laughed, something knifed through her chest. Old Aster, Icicle Inn Aster, Athlete Aster would never accept second place. Would never have resigned herself to less than the best. A further wedge drove itself between her selves.

She ignored her internal conflict and said, "Put up some fight, man. It's lonely here at the top."

"Arrogant bitch," Harvey Barnhill said in her general direction. His eyes had been particularly red-stung after Newberry made his dramatic exit. Aster couldn't un-see that, even now, several weeks on. She could still hear his pathetic sniffles at night, when they were the only two awake.

Aster pulled open her locker door with a clatter into the wall. A flake of paintwork attached itself to the corner. For a moment she considered not saying a word, but pride is a wild beast over which she had no control. _Pick your battles_ she could hear Rex mutter as soon as her shoulders stiffened.

But Aster had already twisted at the waist and locked on target. "Ten more weeks, sweetheart, and you'll never have to see me again."

Barnhill's eyes widened a fraction like a cat making a decision to run or swipe. He swiped. Had to. He was with his gaggle of buddies, after all. "It'd be earlier than that if I had my way."

"Ooh, I think I'm frightened. What are you gonna do?" she asked with wide, dull eyes. "Spit on my boots? Shred my uniform? Assault me in the shower? Choke me at night?"

Matthew Carpenter, friend of the world, stepped in and diffused the situation at the same time Rex set a stable hand over her shoulder.

"Careful, princess," Matt said, the only one who could say it without sounding like an enormous bell-end, even though he was directly and unequivocally mocking Aster and Newberry's rocky relationship, "some people are into that last one."

The huddle of around six began to laugh, all except Barnhill who could only manage a chuckle to save face, before filtering out for dinner and leaving the room empty. Aster's gaze returned to Rex with a smile like nothing happened.

Rex sighed resignedly. Beneath his breath, he murmured, "You must be exhausted all the time."

"Don't know what you mean," she said, knowing exactly what he meant.

"You coming to mess?" he asked, sitting on the edge of his bed with his hands wedged together.

Aster yanked a set of distinctly non-military clothes from her cabinet. She pulled the zipper down the front of her infantry jacket and it squealed like a kazoo with the rush. "Don't have time."

Rex tipped his head down. The tips of his ears turned pink.

"Don't have time for food? Tseng?"

"Believe it or not, no." A tuft of blonde hair fell from the twist knot at the back of her head as she pulled a black top over her head. She brought the neckline up to her nose and sniffed it. A hint of Zack's cologne hugged its fibres. She dropped it quickly when she realised what a weirdo she must have looked, but Rex was still staring at his hands, tapping his index fingers together absently. "I get to go to mess today, but I'm skipping it. 'Cause at around six-ish or something, Tseng's got one of his Major Important Meetings to attend for an Undetermined Amount of Time so he's had to push back our field exercise until later this evening."

"But," she said, hopping around on one leg as she pulled on a pair of gym pants. "He couldn't find a babysitter. Reno, Rude and Cissnei are all busy, and I've never been taken by anyone else. So I've got from right this second until the moment Tseng decides he's done and wants me back to do whatever I want."

"Zack?"

A golden smile graced her features. Things had been well since their last date. Their schedules still opposed and that wasn't likely to get any better, and it became increasingly harder to pretend they didn't know each other when their paths did cross, but the warmth that spread through the coldest parts of her when she _was_ with him made those struggles not matter.

"No. Nice, though," she said with a snort. "There's an address I'd like to find."

Rex looked up at her again, finally. The cogs turned in his mind through his hazel eyes. His eyelashes were really long, and pretty fair. Not as fair as her own, though, an insecurity that led her to start applying mascara at the tender age of ten, thanks to off-handed remarks from school children. Even chin-deep in muddy, army crawling exercises, her lashes would have a thin coat of mascara applied. It was an old habit now. A reflex.

"What was it again? S Six, SW, two-hundred and—"

"Nine," they finished at the same time.

Aster half-frowned. "Good memory. I only told you once."

He shrugged.

"Southwest Sector Six, right? Surely. But I have no idea what relevance two-hundred and nine has. Building? Street? District? I'm gonna head to Tifa's bar and ask around there, since it's so close to the border and I really don't want to ask around Wall Market if I can help it."

Rex rubbed the stubble of his jaw that Aster knew was getting too long to pass as shadow. Then, he stood up.

"I'll go with you."

"Whoa, whoa," she said, waving her hands. "Not dressed like that you won't. You'll have to dress like a civvy. Can't route through the slums in your uniform without raising a few eyebrows. We don't know where we're going; some parts of the slums aren't exactly pro-Shinra, and we won't be armed."

"Armed with my fists," he said, shadowboxing with added sound effects.

Aster crossed her arms with flat eyes, distinctly unimpressed, but he smirked anyway and opened his locker. It obstructed her view as he dressed, and she considered for a moment that it could have been intentional, but regardless, she wasn't looking, anyway.

"What do you—ouch—reckon's there?" he asked, catching his elbow or something else solid-sounding on the locker door.

"No idea," she said, shaking her head even though he couldn't see her. "'The end is in sight.' Pretty sketch, don't you think?"

"Be real, mate, he was a sketchy dude." Rex closed the door, now wearing a slim-fit dress shirt rolled up to his elbows and a pair of chinos. Aster frowned again. "What is it now? I know that face."

She opened her mouth to speak but closed it again. Opened it. Closed it.

"Fish?"

She formed an 'o' with her lips then, finally, words. "I've never seen you in your own clothes before. It's weird. Don't like it."

He rubbed his neck with a raised eyebrow. "Sorry?"

"You're like…a bow tie and a pair of thick-framed glasses away from textbook nerd."

"Hey, I make it work."

"Do you, though?"

"You are such a mean individual," he said, heading for the door.

"_Um._" She blocked his way with a hand to his shoulder. "Yesterday you asked me how I could be this ugly with only one head."

"And it's still a valid question." He jabbed her in the nose and left the room.

"What—what it's my nose?" she asked, running out after him, not sure whether to laugh or punch him.

"Yeah, mate. It sticks up like a ski-jump for fleas. It's part of your charm."

"Wow, there's a self-esteem issue I never had until you kindly pointed it out for me."

"Much like my clothes," he said, turning to smirk at her. "What's that? Oh, don't give what you can't take?"

"Fine," she said, throwing her arms up in a truce. She stopped still and smiled sweetly with half a bow. "I rescind my statement regarding your interesting state of dress. You look lovely. Straight out of private education, look at you."

Rex, walking backwards with his hands in his pockets, smirked. "You were a bully at school, weren't you?"

She wanted to gasp in over-exaggerated horror, but she laughed at the same time so ending up just coughing indignantly. "No. _Thanks_. I was homeschooled as soon as I hit twelve."

Rex spun on his heel. She could hear his smile. "Was that to protect the other kids?"

Aster laughed and chased him down the hall. "_God_, you are such an asshole!"

* * *

The steps up to Seventh Heaven creaked in agony as always. This time it seemed like they might not last much longer. The old, rotting wood steps had seen almost as many spines and faces as they had feet, and the impacts over years forced large fissures into their surfaces. The deck was of the same quality, and the saloon doors gave to the lightest touch and slapped unevenly into one another like the hinges might give at any moment.

It was pretty cramped tonight; the tables were full and people were stood around eating from the containers Aster had seen all over Tifa's kitchen counter and drinking where there were no seats left. The smell of hard spirits, gunpowder, and Tifa's cooking brought with it familiarity unbound.

A few patrons withdrew from the bar with their drinks and a woman Aster did not recognise was stood with a hand on the counter and the other on her hip, with an easy smile—too easy to be new. Easy like she owned the place.

"Who's that?" Rex asked close to Aster's ear so as to combat with the stronger forces of music and general bar noise.

She stumbled into his chest after receiving an elbow to the spine from a wading customer. "Dunno, never seen her before. Come on."

It struck Aster as odd that they had so many customers that Tifa had had to batch cook food, since usually she cooked on the premises fresh, but figured some kind of event must have been taking place since she had been very clearly prepared for it. Maybe this was what Tifa meant by 'deadlines' last week. She must have been cooking meals all day and freezing them, in order to prepare for this swell of customers. She did remember Zack mentioning that he and Cloud helped move a chest freezer into Tifa's spare bedroom. Which was. Yeah. Odd. Good idea, though.

"What can I getcha?" the barmaid asked with a wide, friendly grin. Her cheeks bunched up at the corner of her mouth, sprinkled with freckles. A red headband obscured most of her forehead and pulled back a thick mane of auburn hair that was held in a ponytail, keeping long bangs out of her face.

Aster rested a hand against the counter with Rex wedged behind her. "Hey, uh, my name's Aster. I'm friends with Tifa; I help out here occasionally."

She framed it like a question, then leaned awkwardly since there really was no room amongst all the customers to give the woman a better view of Rex. "And this is my friend Rex."

"Nice meeting ya," she said, extending a hand clothed in a black, fingerless glove. Her knuckles were coated by metal plates. She looked about as capable as Tifa. "I heard about ya. Name's Jessie."

Aster shook it and Rex thereafter.

"Can you help us with something? We're looking for—" Aster glanced at Rex and pulled a face. "A friend? Not exactly. We're looking for someone. I only have this address to go by, or at least I think it's an address, but I don't know enough about the area to find it. Can you put us to the right direction?"

Aster brought up the note she had left for herself on her PHS and placed it face up on the counter for Jessie to read it. The backlight paled her widening brown eyes, shrinking pupils.

Jessie shook her head and pushed the phone back towards Aster. "What do you want to go there for?"

Aster slid the PHS into her back pocket, vaguely aware that the back plate was now covered in beer. "You know where it is?"

"Not exactly," she said. "Just heard of it."

"Will you help us?" asked Rex, leaning his hand against the counter to the left of Aster's waist.

Jessie dragged her eyes from Aster to Rex a few times. Aster doubted an unarmed teenager in a tank top with her scrawny collarbones sticking out and a kid in the slums in a bloody dress shirt and chinos looked particularly threatening, for Gaia's sake. Especially since this Jessie girl had knuckledusters built into her gloves and a chainmail sleeve on beneath her metal body armour.

Aster raised an impatient eyebrow.

"Information is dealt for information here in the slums. Just the way of things, I'm afraid," Jessie said. "I'll tell you where it is if you tell me why you're really going there."

"What?" Rex said, jaw visibly recoiling in confusion. "What could you possibly get from knowing what we're going for?"

"Whatever you could be getting by going," she said with a shrug. "Ain't no way you're going there to find a 'friend', unless you're not quite the person Tifa makes you out to be."

Aster shrugged. The information being asked for was relatively innocuous, so she handed it over with little apprehension.

"Alright. A man tried to kill me. I found this address in his stuff and I wanna know where the heck he's gone."

"Who's the man?"

Aster looked up at Rex again. He was faintly shaking his head, but in incredulousness rather than communicating what he thought she should do. With a sigh, she said, "His name's Jack Newberry. He was a Shinra cadet."

"Huh," was all she said, then her shoulders fell as if she'd been holding them too tightly before. "Okay. For a moment I was worried Tifa would have to cut you out, or something."

"Why?"

"Some real shady characters down that neck of the woods, that's all," she said. She looked relieved. "Watch your back out there. And your front. And sides."

Jessie pulled a napkin out from under the counter and grabbed a marker pen, pulling the cap off between her teeth and scribbling some directions. She spat the cap out with a thunk and it bounced against the counter. "Directions are from Wall Market. Don't want anybody tracing back to here if you drop the note, if you know what I'm saying."

"Uh, right," Aster said, furrowing her brows at Rex who mirrored her expression almost exactly, capable of sharing their emotions without words. "Thanks for this."

She took the napkin and folded it into her palm. With a curt nod, Rex and Aster pulled back towards the door. Rex opened it for her, and glanced back towards the bar as she passed him.

"We're being watched," he said, hardly moving his lips.

"Mm. I thought as much."

The oven-like lamps of the slums bored onto their skin like a film. No reprieve of fresh air. Rex rubbed it into the side of his jaw, as if trying to wear away the feeling. "She doesn't trust us."

"What the hell kinda place is this?" Aster asked, staring at the napkin in her fingers.

"The kinda place you don't make friends, apparently."

"No kidding. Turn back now if you're scared."

"Get off it, drongo."

She didn't ask.

"Directions are from Sector Six, right?" she said, folding the directions up and pushing them deep into her back pocket and patting them there, wary of Jessie's reluctance to part with it. "That's through the gate near the pillar."

Wall Market. Where the air was stale and hazy, thick and visible. Dust, smoke and fog, and it tasted hot and silvery. It filtered out lamps into glowing clouds rather than bulbs, and cast strange shadows over faces. This was the first time Aster had visited at a less respectable hour. It was busier—much so—than last she had been, and women and children were scarce.

A bar from not far down the narrow, stacked streets erupted in cheers and drunken roars, and a humanoid shape launched from its doorway into a scrap heap beyond with the sound of a thousand pots and pans clashing together. No one so much as turned to look.

Paper lanterns hung from a string above their heads before crimson and pink neon signage that cut through the mist. A girl—the only one other than Aster to be seen, who couldn't have been much different in age—stood beneath them, a hand on her neck and a leg poised in front of the other. She swayed faintly as though a breeze pushed her and threatened to topple her in her stilettos, but the plastic fibres of her red bob wig were static. Her eyes were empty over sallow cheeks and the glow of a cigarettes kiss. She wore a yellow bralette and miniskirt, and an oversized bee abdomen and stinger hung from the back of her hips, wings above them. Aster counted each of her ribs.

A round man in a waistcoat managed to shout for her attention without dropping the cigar poking from his moustache. The girl in the bee costume walked into the building behind him with the shake of her hips, but his eyes stuck to Aster.

Rex lowered his voice to only her range and stepped between her and those neon lights. "I get that you don't need anyone, least of all me, but I'm glad I came with you."

She adjusted her posture, cleared her throat and, averting her eyes, grabbed his hand and left the grubby street.

The napkin grew wearier and wearier the more Aster pulled it from her pocket and shoved it back. The ink was bleeding through the fibres of tissue and it was becoming illegible; its health was declining in harmony with the surroundings with each instruction followed—a harmony of discord and decay.

Shadows crept up their necks, acutely aware of scuttling feet through the shadows around them. Monsters, Aster convinced herself. There were no other sounds of much description in the slums. No wind could blow through the leaves of the trees when neither existed below the floating city. In these lesser travelled streets, only the sounds of the rustling from who-knows-where and the faint sounds of vehicles on the Plate high above like a tiny oscillating fan and distant hum of the lights that lit the slum proper could be heard.

She'd let go of Rex's hand after a while, because the sweat on his palms made it harder to pretend they hadn't wandered into a neighbourhood they did not belong in. Though the streets had grown empty a while ago after passing the last of strangers in shredded overcoats and shadows and plumes of smoke, the distinct, familiar feeling of presence and stares stuck as palpably as did the clothes on her back to her skin. This place made Wall Market seem like a children's park, but at no point did turning back cross her mind.

"Butt clenched enough?" she said to lighten the mood. Her lack of smile, the break in her voice, and the growing darkness where the slum overlights didn't reach buried all attempts at humour. Rex tried to laugh out of courtesy.

The path they followed had long since turned from paving, to cobbles, to dirt, and now it narrowed to a junction between two lopsided shacks, and the path beyond it was dimly lit. It was the only way forward, and they had run out of directions on the napkin.

Aster shrugged and headed through the gap. As she did, she stumbled on a twist of rusted metal half buried in the ground and pressed her hand against the wall. Something shifted, and a short section of corrugated iron came loose from overhead and fell into them. It grazed her shoulder, but Rex caught it quickly and shoved it back atop the low roof with a rusty clang and clatter.

"You okay?" he asked.

"Thanks," she said with a nod.

"Hope you're up to date with your tetanus shots."

His attempt at humour was as successful as hers. Aster wasn't as courteous as he, though, and barely even offered a smile. She stepped out into the new, wider and equally empty street and Rex followed her. A weight sat on her chest.

Her throat tightened.

An archway, like a dysfunctional version of the slums gates.

Poor lighting. Pale, lifeless ground, strewn with litter and scrap. A wide, dirt road lined with sheds and lean-tos and barely any concrete structures, gutted carcasses of buildings. Old streetlights. Most of them still working. Some not. One, somewhere, notched approximately two foot from the bottom.

"Oh, Goddess," she whispered. "No, no, no."


End file.
